By Any Means Necessary
by Cheri Goodman - Heather Wyatt
Summary: When an overseas trip for Brennan leaves her in terrible danger, Booth does what is necessary to save her - even if what he is forced to do has the potential to drive her away from him forever. Set in season 5, pre-100th; Inspired by the movie "Taken". NOW COMPLETE - Sequel in Progress, titled "Whatever it Takes"
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This story was on this site many years ago, and was somewhat well known at the time. I am modifying it somewhat as I repost, so hoping to post around 5 chapters a week.**

 **It begins in the fifth season, just before the events of the 100th episode. It follows canon up until that point, veering off before the events of 100. This is inspired by the film "Taken", but takes its own route. It is an exploration of just how far Booth would go to protect Brennan.**

 **All of my previous author's notes have been removed, so this is your one warning - there are HEAVY adult themes including Brennan in peril from human trafficking/sex trafficking, violence, extremely uncomfortable interactions between the characters including a _simulated_ sexual assault, violence, language, references to rape (though no actual rape), and more angst than you can shake a stick at. If any of those things offend you, stop now. **

**However, if you're looking for a story where Booth is unswervingly devoted to Brennan, would do anything for her, and wouldn't blink at killing for her…then this may be for you.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Bones, unfortunately, nor any of the characters. I'm just borrowing them for a little while for fun's sake, and not making one single penny off of it.**

Chapter 1

Special Agent Seeley Booth had grown rather used to his partner's cell phone ringing all the time. More often than not it was Cam with a case update, or possibly Hodgins or Angela calling to inform her of their latest discovery on the 'skeleton of the week'. Occasionally the caller would be her father or brother, calling to check in on her.

There had, of course, been brief periods during their partnership when she had been dating, or as she liked to phrase it, "spending mutually beneficial time with a male for the purpose of satisfying her biological urges" - and God, how he hated that phrase, for reasons he didn't want to examine too closely. During those periods of time, he would come to dread and hate the sound of her phone ringing. If there was anything worse than listening to the way she cheapened love and human relationships into something so cheap and scientific, it was having to sit there and listen to her end of the conversation while she sat in the passenger seat of HIS vehicle making those sordid plans with some guy. The only thing possibly even worse than _that_ was trying to convince himself that his sense of morality was the only reason it bothered him so much. Spending so much time with her, it wasn't really healthy for his sanity to focus on the fact that it wasn't the phrase 'some guy' that bothered him so much; it was the word he barely dared to think aloud, 'some _other_ guy.'

On this particular day, however, she was not seeing anyone that he was aware of. Therefore, the ringing of her phone passed almost unnoticed by him as he drove the two of them back towards the Jeffersonian from their latest crime scene so that she could retrieve her car. Many times during the following weeks, however, he would consider the fact that had he known what this particular call would bring, he would have grabbed the phone from her hand and thrown it out the window, right over the bridge and into the river.

"Brennan," she answered, in her standard greeting. "Yes? Really? Yes, I would be very interested."

At this, Booth's ears perked up, though he was still not sensing any cause for alarm. Several moments passed in silence as his partner was listening, while Booth's curiosity continued to grow.

"Yes, it sounds fascinating. Please text Dr. Benjamin's information to my phone. I will want to contact him immediately and make arrangements. Thank you, Cam."

As she pressed the button to end her call, Brennan turned in her seat to face him with a look of excitement that he recognized. It was not a look that he saw very often, and inevitably it came in conjunction with mummies or discoveries of ancient Chinese bones and the like.

Booth once again felt the twinge he had felt not so long ago on a plane to China, when he had worried that her fascination and commitment to working cases with him was beginning to pale in comparison to "her first love," ancient remains. It bothered him more than he cared to admit, especially considering that this train of thought almost always derailed with the realization that it must make him a selfish jerk to want to pull her away from something she so obviously loved.

Her excitement was evident in her tone as she began to speak to him. "That was Cam. She received a call from…"

"So where are you going?" he asked, resisting the urge to cringe at how abrupt and just how much like a jealous boyfriend he sounded.

Confusion registered in her face for a split second before she answered him. "Albania. But how did you know I was going somewhere?"

The corner of his lip jerked upwards despite himself in a slight, wry smile. "I know you, Bones. Remember? Daffodil, daisy, Jupiter?" As she continued to study him for a moment longer, he sighed. "You just had that look you get in your eye when somebody on the other side of the planet has unearthed some dusty old bones that none of the other experts have _quite_ been able to put a finger on."

He had been sure that his rather inelegant explanation would suffice, but he should have known better.

"The discovering archaeologists have already recovered and presumably handled the remains during their initial examination, Booth; so their fingers have certainly touched them, albeit with gloves on. It is the _identification_ that they have requested my help with."

Once again, Booth sighed. "It's an expression, Bones. I didn't mean _literally_ put a finger on. I meant - you know what? Never mind. How long will you be gone?"

The excitement returned to her tone once again as she explained further. "Well, a burial site was uncovered in Albania, containing several sets of remains. The archaeologists who made the find are convinced that the remains are those of warriors from the ancient Illyrian tribes. But because no Illyrian remains have ever been located in the area of the find - and also because of the presence of certain artifacts - a conflict over the identification has arisen between the finding team and the team brought in to authenticate."

Booth nodded slowly. "So," he asked, "they're calling you in to confirm or deny the identification."

His partner rewarded him with a smile. "Exactly. The remains were discovered close to the border of Greece. The issue at hand is what government will ultimately maintain possession of the remains. Relations between Greece and Albania are currently stable, but as recently as the early 90s that wasn't necessarily true. It is absolutely essential to have authentication of the find by an unbiased third party so that this issue can be solved diplomatically. NATO is involved in a peacekeeping capacity because of the political undercurrents, and Cam is supposed to be texting me the number of my contact there who will arrange my itinerary."

Booth was still nodding and had understood the general idea, but he was focused on only a few certain words she had said. The words 'conflict', 'political undercurrents', and 'peacekeeping' were among the words that had instantly set off alarm bells in his still very military brain. Those same alarm bells assured him that any conversation in which he voiced these concerns was not going to go well for him. But for reasons he couldn't have explained if he tried, he had a very, very bad feeling about this trip.

He cleared his throat, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and mentally preparing himself for the backlash that was sure to come. He had opened his mouth and drawn in a breath before he was literally saved by the bell - her phone notifying her that Cam had sent the information she was waiting for.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she scanned what Cam had sent her. She had begun punching the number of her contact into her phone when she was stopped suddenly by Booth's hand reaching out, closing over hers with the phone in it.

His action had the desired effect of temporarily stopping her dialing, and it also gained him her full attention. Her head snapped towards him as she asked, "Booth, what are you doing?"

She wasn't angry, merely curious; but Booth hesitated for a second before letting her go and turning his eyes back to the road. Her blue eyes remained focused on him, eyebrows slightly raised in question. It never ceased to amaze him that in his life he had faced war, torture, bullets, explosions, kidnappings, and many other things he would just as soon forget; but it was her who could stop him short with one look. He'd jumped in front of a bullet for her before, and would do it again tomorrow if she needed it. Not much scared him. But sometimes just _talking_ to her was one of the most nerve-wracking things he could imagine. And this was going to be one of those discussions.

"Bones, maybe you should just take a second to think about this. It sounds like this could get pretty ugly. You don't need to get caught up in the middle of an international conflict."

If he had really, really thought about it, he could have predicted her next words and mouthed them right along with her. "I can take care of myself, Booth."

He wanted to roll his eyes, but just shot her a look instead. "Oh really? Against an army? Mercenaries? An assassin, when your conclusion is inevitably an answer that one side doesn't want to hear?"

She rolled _her_ eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. My only role will be as an independent third party contracted by NATO to make a simple authentication, and then I will be returning."

As much as he didn't want to fight with her, Booth knew without question that he was going to press this issue. He didn't know why; he only knew that every hair on the back of his neck was standing up, and that the more they discussed it the more his sixth sense screamed at him that something terrible was going to happen if she got on that plane. But since it wasn't likely that she believed in premonition any more than she believed in love or magic, he had to find a rational reason if he had any hope of stopping her.

"Bones, you've already decided to go without talking to anybody. All you have is a relayed message from Cam. You haven't done any research on the current political climate, and you haven't asked any questions about what type of security detail you would have. All I'm saying is that I think you should ask some questions before you jump headfirst into this." The tension he was concealing with his relatively calm voice finally betrayed him when he threw in his last three words, emphasizing his point with a smack of his palm on the steering wheel that contained just a bit more force than really necessary to get his point across - "Just be _reasonable_."

She gave him a terse nod as she looked away to continue dialing her phone. As he noticed the set in her jaw, he realized with a sinking feeling that he was wasting his breath. Her mind was made up. "Fine," she snapped at him. "I will contact Dr. Benjamin right now and obtain answers to all of your questions."

As he drove, Booth listened to her end of the conversation, hearing her ask all the right questions but hearing none of the answers. From what little he could hear and what he could read from the notes she was scribbling down, he was able to find out the date of her departure, the airline she would be traveling, the city where she would be staying, and a few other tidbits of information that he locked away in his brain in case he would need them. He desperately hoped he wouldn't need them; but if she refused to be reasonable about her safety, it was a foregone conclusion in his mind that he was going to do it for her - whether she liked it or not.

When he pulled up to her car to drop her off, she was still deep in conversation with this Dr. Benjamin. She barely acknowledged Booth's presence with a distracted wave before climbing from his vehicle. He sat and watched as she got in her car and began to drive away, before following her out of the parking lot and heading toward his own apartment. Two days. Just two days until she would get on a plane carrying her away from him and into God knew what - again. Two days to come up with some sort of plan to convince her to stay in touch with him enough to at least be sure she was alive and unharmed. Two days, although he didn't realize it, until the beginning of a nightmare worse than he could have ever imagined.

ooo . ooo . ooo

In the end, it wasn't especially difficult for Booth to convince Brennan to keep in touch with him while away on her trip. He had simply taken the direct route - promising with a smirk on his face that if she failed to return _any_ of his calls within 3 hours _even one single time_ , he would be on a plane before she could say, "Anthropologically speaking." And then he hadn't backed down. He had also promised to be especially overprotective and annoyingly alpha-male upon his arrival, should she forget to keep in touch with him and thereby summon him.

It had done the trick. Dr. Temperance Brennan might be an extremely stubborn woman, but she was also brilliant. She didn't have the greatest knack for reading people, including Booth at times, but even she could see he was completely serious. She reluctantly agreed, as though she had a choice, even allowing him to extract a promise from her that she would call him daily.

A mere two days after the initial phone call that had set things into motion, Booth was dropping her off at the airport. Thanks to the Monday from hell combined with bad traffic, they were somewhat pushed for time and had only a quick moment to say their goodbyes.

"Bones, remember," he began, just as they arrived at the security gate, "you call me at least one time every 24 hours. I'll be calling you occasionally, and I expect a call back within 3 hours. I really _hate_ long flights in coach, so don't forget."

Rolling her eyes at him, she turned to face him. "Booth, this is completely unnecessary. I have been assured of adequate security, and there's no danger. Rationally speaking, I have been to far more dangerous locations."

He just looked at her for a few seconds in response until she finally gave in and sighed. "Fine. I'll call you when I land."

That earned her a charm smile as he took a step backward, flipping his poker chip into the air. "Bye, Bones. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

She seemed honestly confused. "Like what?"

Booth just continued grinning at her, so she finally smiled back as she said, "Okay Booth. See you in a few days."

Brennan turned to begin making her way through security. He had been backing away and they had already said their goodbyes, so she was very surprised to feel his hand on her shoulder, turning her around and pulling her into a fierce hug. She was unable to stop her momentum as he swung her around, causing her to crash hard into his chest. His arms wrapped around her more tightly than he had ever held her as he spoke close to her ear. "Hey…be careful, Bones. Please just…be careful. You call me if _any_ thing happens, do you understand?"

Perplexed by his sudden change of manner and slightly breathless from the sudden impact into his chest, she could only nod her head in response as she slowly pulled back away from him and turned to head through the security gate.

Booth watched her go, as a feeling he couldn't quite identify gnawed on his insides. Though he couldn't quite place it, it had a thick undertone of fear. Everything in his gut had been screaming at him not to let her walk onto that plane, but he still wasn't sure exactly what had prompted him to grab her like that. _'What the hell,'_ he thought. _'It was a guy hug. Hey, I promised I'd hug her if I got scared. Well I'm scared, dammit."_

As he walked back to his car and drove to work, he still couldn't quite shake that gnawing feeling that something very, very bad was coming.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Somewhere over the middle of the ocean, Temperance Brennan's thoughts were still fixated on her partner. She had reams of documentation she should be reading to familiarize herself with the task she was on her way to carry out, yet she could not get Booth's strange behavior off of her mind.

This was not, by any means, the first time such thoughts had plagued her. As their partnership had evolved over the past four years, she had gone from hating his arrogance, to admiring his special brand of expertise in his field, to thinking he was a good man, to admiring him, and finally to feeling deep friendship for him, at the very least.

It was his stubborn commitment to her personal safety - and her reaction to it - that puzzled her the most. Everything in her hated to need someone, to rely on someone, and yet it seemed to happen more and more frequently with Booth. Perhaps even more surprising was her own reaction to it. Somewhere along the way, she realized, she had stopped resenting his protectiveness so fiercely. She could surely take care of herself. There was no question about it, and she realized that he knew it too. Why then, she pondered, did he go to such great lengths to be protective of her? And why, she wondered, had she truly come to expect and even be grateful for it?

With all the self-discipline she could muster, she wrenched her thoughts away from Booth - Booth, with his impressively strong arms that had so recently and unexpectedly been wrapped around her, and his even more impressive bone structure and distracting masculine scent - and turned her attention by force to the papers in her lap and the bones she was _supposed_ to be focusing on.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Hours later, Booth grabbed his phone on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Booth, it's me. I've landed and cleared customs. I'm on my way to meet the representative Dr. Benjamin has sent to greet me."

Although the purpose of having her call had been to set his mind at ease, knowing that she was now on the ground getting ready to walk into an international powder keg did nothing to calm his nerves. If anything, the tight glove of fear that had been wrapped around his heart for two days squeezed a little bit tighter.

"Okay, Bones. Thanks for calling. Now you've just gotta call me back every 12 hours so I don't have to hop a plane to Albania."

He could almost hear the smile in her voice, in response to his intentionally joking tone.

"24, Booth. I have service here in the airport and I can call from my room, but I have no way of knowing that I would even be able to call you every 12 hours. We agreed to every 24 hours, not 12. So it's 24, Booth. I'm hanging up."

Despite all he was feeling, an answering smile lit up his voice as he responded, "Not the way I remember it, Bones - 12 hours. Tick, tock." With that, he pressed the button to end the call, effectively silencing any protest and ending her chance to hang up on him.

But after disconnecting, it took only seconds for the smile to fade and for the dread of something happening to her to grab hold of his heart again.

ooo . ooo . ooo

So far, everything had gone according to plan. Dr. Brennan had collected her luggage, met the representative sent to greet her, and had been transported to her accommodations for the night.

Because of the 6-hour time difference, she arrived in the capital city of Tirana in the early evening. Due to the late hour, her work would begin the next day. Dr. Benjamin had checked in with her by phone to ensure that her accommodations were adequate and that all of her needs had been taken care of. Upon assuring him that she had been provided for adequately, she disconnected the call and began settling in. That done, she made a quick call to Booth, just because she knew that he would be worrying until he heard from her again.

He had been in a meeting, and had only been able to step out long enough to hear that she was fine and settled in for the night.

Although she had been exhausted from her travels before she had called him, when she disconnected the call she found herself feeling extremely restless. Part of her wondered if it had anything to do with hearing his voice and being so far away from him, but she ruthlessly squelched that thought.

Looking around, she quickly made her decision. She was an anthropologist, after all. Despite the approaching darkness, she was going to venture out and explore the city, observing local customs. The thought crossed her mind that Booth would advise against venturing out alone. But then she remembered a phrase she had heard Angela use one time in reference to Hodgins - _"What he doesn't know, can't hurt him."_ With a smile, she headed out.

ooo . ooo . ooo

An hour or so later, a thoroughly exhausted Dr. Brennan had done all of the exploring she could do for one night and was making her way back. The sun had just gone down, and the area was becoming more and more deserted. Stifling a yawn, she continued on her way, still very aware of her surroundings.

She first heard rather than saw the harmless-looking young man approaching her. He was carrying several bags in his arms, the bags rustling and announcing his presence. She moved over to give him room to pass; but as he walked past her, he appeared to stumble, tripping right into her and dropping the bags against her.

Maybe it was the lateness of the hour or exhaustion from her travels. Maybe it was her strong belief in her own ability to defend herself, but as she reached out to grab the falling bags she never suspected a thing. She felt the sharp stab of a needle being stabbed into her side and felt the sucker punch to her stomach. But the one thing that truly registered as she fell to the ground was the odor of the chloroform on the rag being pressed over her nose. And that's when everything went dark.

ooo . ooo . ooo

At 10:30 P.M. in D.C. - 4:30 A.M. in Tirana, Albania - Agent Booth was very aware of the fact that it had been exactly 9 hours and 2 minutes since he had last heard from his partner. She had been settled into her room for the night, or so she had said. But thanks to that damned meeting he had been in when she'd called, he'd been too distracted to hound her about _staying the hell put._

Hence his worry. He _knew_ her - really, really knew her, despite what she might think - and just a few minutes after he had disconnected the call it had occurred to him that "in the room for the night" could amount to exactly zero with Bones.

He sincerely hoped right now that she was safe in her bed, sound asleep, but for the last eight hours his worry had been ramping up. What had started as a cold, steady vise of uneasiness squeezing his heart was now worry at the boiling point. He had no valid reason to believe she was anywhere other than safe in her bed, but he had learned long ago to trust his gut. And right now, his gut was screaming at him.

He stared at the phone in his hand. It was 4:30 in the morning over there and it could be nothing. With a hard sigh, he weighed his pros and cons. On the one hand, she might be so mad at him for calling her at 4:30 in the morning that she would refuse to call him again for the rest of her trip. On the other hand, his gut had rarely failed him before, and she could be in trouble.

 _'Well, I can always claim ignorance of the time zones,'_ Booth thought, as he made his decision to call right then and check on her. He knew it was a flimsy excuse. He also knew that she would know full well he was lying. She would know that he knew exactly what time it was there, along with the hundred other details he had amassed over the last 2 days. He had been a sniper, after all. He hadn't told her much about that time in his life, but he'd said enough for her to know that scouting and research were part of the process and were familiar territory to him - not to mention the fact that he was also an FBI agent who just happened to be relentlessly protective of her. At this point, the best he could hope for was that she would just let him get away with it and not call him on it.

He dialed the number, realizing somewhere between the fourth ring and her voicemail picking up that he had been holding his breath. He hung up, choosing not to leave a message this time. While her not answering concerned him even more, he did realize that she had been exhausted when she called him. He had heard it in her voice. If everything was okay and she was still in her room, there was no way she was awake.

Laying back on his couch with the remote in hand, he began mindlessly flipping channels, trying to force himself to relax. It was still three hours until that 12-hour deadline since she had called him. He could not allow himself to jump to conclusions just yet, despite his gut. He would give her until 1:30 A.M. his time. That would be 7:30 A.M. in Albania, and surely she would be awake by then, annoyed at his overprotective tendencies and ready to jump headlong into her authentication without his interference.

At some point Booth must have dozed, because the next thing he was aware of was sitting bolt upright looking at his clock. It was now 1:25 A.M. He was fully awake again instantly, as he realized that it was now 12 hours since she had last called him.

He dialed her number, again held his breath, and was again greeted by her voicemail. Why the hell wasn't she answering him, and why hadn't she called him? It was 7:25 there. He knew she had to be awake by now.

Taking a deep breath, he considered that she may or may not have taken his 12-hour-interval demand seriously. After all, they had originally agreed on 24 hours, right? He had teasingly bait-and-switched her into the 12-hour agreement on the phone, after she had landed. She may not have thought he meant it. The only thing she had really agreed to was returning his calls within 3 hours - and he hadn't left her any messages yet.

Cursing himself for a fool, he quickly dialed her number once again. This time he left a message telling her he'd better hear from her in the next 3 hours or he was on the next plane there. For good measure, he added that if she were to leave her room without a security escort, he was coming there to _be_ her security escort. He hung up, greatly wishing that he had left a message three hours ago when he called.

The following 3 hours were torturous for him. Sleep was out of the question. Giving up quickly on the TV, Booth instead chose to flick his computer on and research everything he hadn't already learned about the area she was staying in, the find she was there to authenticate, and the political climate. He only checked his phone 12 times in the first hour. During the second hour, he also started researching flights to Albania from D.C.

By 4:30 A.M., he had had enough. It had now been three hours since he had left his message. It was 10:30 A.M. in Albania. Maybe she had never really agreed to call him every 12 hours, but she had sure as _hell_ agreed to return his calls within 3 hours. She had now failed to do so. There was no longer any way to explain things away. Something had happened to her.

Grabbing his keys, phone, and the extra travel bag he kept packed in his closet, he quickly strode out the door, slamming it behind him. It was time to find some answers.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Over 4,800 miles away, Temperance Brennan was aware of very, very little. Though she had no way of knowing it, her kidnapper had pumped her full of drugs to keep her compliant. The only sensation that she was currently experiencing was a feeling of floating, far away outside her body.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Very, very near where she lay, Dr. Brennan's phone was insistently announcing that she had a voicemail message. The young Albanian archaeologist who held the phone in his hand was close to panic. He had not been thinking very far ahead when he planned this. Now that he had her, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with her. All he had been thinking about was protecting his find.

He was the one that had made the discovery of the remains - the find of a lifetime. The discovery of those Illyrian warriors, so far away from any previously discovered remains, were going to literally be his salvation. He would be published. He would be known. But most importantly, he would be rich. He would finally be rich enough to pay off the terrifying men - the bookies - that he owed thousands to and couldn't pay. Yes, this discovery had been the miracle that might literally save his life.

At least, it had been, until the confirmation team from Greece arrived and begun disputing his dig team's findings. That had begun his slow descent into madness, because he knew - he was sure - of what he had found. They were slowing him down. Time was running out. He needed his find authenticated. He needed the financial rewards, to save his own life.

Then came the news that NATO was involved. Within days, he was informed that _his_ find, to which he no longer even had access, was going to be examined by an independent third party - a world-famous forensic anthropologist. He had heard of her, of course. Dr. Temperance Brennan. It was impossible to work in any field even closely related to archaeology or anthropology and not have heard of her. She was the best.

At first, he had felt hopeful. Surely she could help him. As the days passed, however, and he spent more time going over every detail in his notes, he began to see some of the fatal flaws in his very rushed reasoning. Maybe, just maybe she wouldn't help him. It was possible - in fact, it was probable - that she would simply be the final nail in his coffin.

And he could not allow that to happen.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Back in D.C., Agent Booth had just quietly slipped into the Jeffersonian. It was shortly before 5:00 in the morning, and the only person he could have hoped to find there at that time of day wasn't going to be there.

He made his way to her office, intent on finding any information that might help him locate her most efficiently. Her voicemail light was flashing furiously at him, so he started there. The most recent message was from about 2:00 that morning - almost 3 hours ago. He knew that would have been 8:00 A.M. Albanian time.

His blood ran cold when he heard the message.

ooo . ooo . ooo

In Albania, another voicemail message was playing, with a similar effect on the listener.

The nervous young archaeologist had finally decided to listen to Dr. Brennan's voicemail messages on her phone. The most recent message played first. He had expected this one. It was the meddling man from NATO, trying to find her. There was no surprise there. Dr. Benjamin had arrived, as arranged, at Dr. Brennan's room that morning to brief her and escort her to the dig site to begin her authentication work there with a survey of the find area. He had found no trace of her, and was looking for her.

It was the second message, left 30 minutes before the NATO man's message, that was causing the kidnapper's terror. It was the voice of a man - a man who was promising to come and find her if she didn't call back within three hours. A very serious sounding man. A man whose voice left no doubt that he could and would carry out his promise.

The young archaeologist was in no way prepared for this. He had simply hoped to stop Dr. Brennan from torpedoing his find. He had watched from the street as the NATO representative brought her to her room on the night she arrived. It had taken him by surprise when she went out alone shortly after. Although he had already gathered supplies and planned to take her, he had planned to wait until the middle of the night when she was sleeping. But that plan had been risky at best. Taking her from outside would be much safer. He could not allow such an opportunity to pass him by. After quickly preparing his supplies and parking the van close by the place she was staying, he had barely had time to hide and then approach her on her way back to her room. It had been so easy. She had never seen it coming.

He had never planned as far ahead as what to do with her next. Now, however, her kidnapper had a decision to make.

A plan - a better plan this time - began to form in his mind. He needed Dr. Brennan to disappear completely before the man from the second message could arrive. He also needed money to pay off his debts.

A slow smile crept across the man's face. There was certainly one way he knew of to make a woman disappear permanently in Albania, especially a beautiful woman, and make money at the same time. The fact that she would never get her hands on his find was an added bonus.

Everyone knew but hardly anyone spoke about the underground rings through which so many women disappeared. Human trafficking was dangerous business, and the men with whom he would have to arrange the sale were even more dangerous. But this young man was no stranger to shady, underground dealings; it was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. But now it was going to get him out.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Before Booth even had a chance to process the horrifying message he had heard on his partner's voicemail at her desk, his own cell phone rang. His heart hammering in his chest with relief, he answered without looking to see who it was - "Bones?"

The voice that answered back sounded confused - "Seeley?"

Disappointment filled him as he realized it was not his partner - "Cam?"

"Yeah, it's me."

Booth listened impatiently as Cam told him about the message she had found upon waking up and checking her office voicemail from home a few minutes before. "I don't want to be the one to tell you this, Seeley, but Dr. Benjamin couldn't find Dr. Brennan in her room this morning. He wasn't sure who else to call and I had spoken with him before, so apparently he called me."

This was not news to Booth, as this was the same message he had just listened to on Brennan's voicemail. Apparently Dr. Benjamin was calling every contact number that he had for her.

Booth's voice was hard as he snapped, "Listen, Cam, wake everybody up. Get every last one of the squints in here, right now. I'm going to need some help."

As he hung up, Booth hesitated for only a second before dialing a number he had hoped never to have to dial, to call in a favor he'd hoped never to have to call in.

ooo . ooo . ooo

As Booth made the call that would bring his past crashing headlong into the present, he closed and locked the door of his partner's office before sitting at her desk. If he could count on Cam, as years of experience told him he could, the squint squad would be descending on him and the Jeffersonian like the proverbial ton of bricks within just a few minutes, full of questions and demanding to know how to help. He needed their help, no doubt. But he also needed his partner back, and that was more important than anything. For that, the help he needed most would come from this call, and for this call he needed privacy.

He knew what type of company his old friend and fellow soldier now ran. He was very well aware of both how lucrative and how dangerous the work was, especially since he had turned down multiple offers to partner with him in it. Because of this, Booth knew that not just anyone could reach his friend - in fact, probably only a handful of people, and then only with codes and solid proof of their identity. He had fully expected to be put through multiple switchboards, security identifications, and transfers before even being asked for the code combination he had faithfully remembered for more than 10 years but had never expected to use.

To his surprise, the operator seemed to know what he wanted as soon as he tentatively gave his name. Without even having to ask who he wanted to talk to, she told him that she would put him through immediately upon completion of his code combination.

It had been years, and Booth had no doubt that code words and combinations changed daily in his friend's line of work. Yet he had never doubted that this particular code would still be in effect if he ever chose to use it. Naji Basara was nothing if not a man of his word, especially when it came to the man to whom he believed he owed everything, his life included. Naji had made this code only for Booth, just before the danger entailed in his work had forced him to cut all ties and surround himself with security precautions.

There was a slight pause before the operator initiated the code sequence. "Loyalty," she began.

"Rewarded," Booth completed. "653-217-89."

"Thank you, Mister Booth. Condition?"

Booth took a deep breath before uttering the final word that would let Naji know he was finally asking to be repaid - "Grim."

The only reply was a click as he was put through immediately to a man he had never expected to speak to again - a man whose life he could be endangering by contacting.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Just outside the door to Dr. Brennan's office, a small crowd was gathering. Angela Montenegro had been the first to arrive, having broken every speed limit law after receiving Cam's phone call. All she knew was that her best friend was in trouble and Booth needed their help to find her. A thousand different scenarios were racing through her mind, and she wanted answers immediately. She had almost begun pounding on the door of Brennan's office when she had looked through the window to see Booth sitting at her friend's desk, phone held to his ear. She had thought better of it, however, at Booth's insistent gesture for her to wait, coupled with the intense look in his eyes.

Cam had arrived just after her, and needed no such gestures. One look at Booth told her not to disturb him, so she sat on the ground beside Angela to wait outside Brennan's office.

Dr. Jack Hodgins was not far behind the two women. "What do we know so far?" he asked as he bounced agitatedly on his toes.

Cam glanced through the window at Booth before answering his question. "We know that Dr. Brennan arrived safely in Tirana and was escorted to her room by a representative from Dr. Benjamin's office. When Dr. Benjamin arrived this morning to greet her, she was nowhere to be found. I don't know what Booth knows."

Angela also threw a glance over her shoulder at Booth. "Who do you think he's talking to in there? Do you think he knows where she is? He looks so…intense."

Cam only shrugged, as Hodgins continued bouncing on his toes, wishing someone would give him something he could do.

A nervous silence ensued, broken only by the sounds of restless fidgeting and impatient sighs. Booth and Brennan's friends could only wait now, ready to offer their own particular brands of expertise.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Naji Basara was an American of Arabic descent. His parents had immigrated to the States from Saudi Arabia, and he had been born two years later. As a child, he learned at home to fluently speak both English and Arabic. As a pre-teen who struggled to be accepted by groups of kids that he didn't quite fit in with or look like, he had turned to books and academics. Finding that he had a propensity for picking up languages, he had picked up bits and pieces of multiple languages, enough to hold tentative conversations.

In his teen years, Naji had discovered his own natural athletic ability, and it quickly blossomed. Through high school sports, he was able to find the acceptance and camaraderie he had been denied in his early adolescence.

Naji loved his country, and it had seemed only the natural thing when he graduated to join the army. Thanks to both his athletic and linguistic prowess, it also seemed only natural when he earned his Ranger tab, becoming an Army Ranger. He was a tremendous marksman, and became a trained sniper. Even more importantly, his ability to fluently speak English and Arabic made him a valuable asset.

It was that very ability, however, that was both a blessing and a curse. Despite his love of country and fierce devotion to duty, acceptance was sometimes harder to find among his fellow soldiers than it had been in middle school. Although if any one of them had been asked they would say his ethnicity made no difference, the unfortunate fact was that to some of them it did. He sometimes faced suspicions, fear, and ignorance of his religion.

If it hadn't been for one fellow soldier he met, Seeley Booth, there were times he would have felt like giving up. Their backgrounds couldn't have been more different. Naji had come from a happy, loving family. Seeley Booth didn't often speak of his family. But it was clear to Naji that he was trying to get away from something, and what else could an 18-year-old be running from other than family? Maybe he was just too distracted by his own circumstances to care that Naji was different, but Seeley Booth didn't seem to even notice that there was anything different about Naji Basara; and the two quickly became fast friends.

They had been assigned together, even worked some missions together. Naji found out quickly that Seeley was protective of his friends. He took personal offense to other guys giving Naji a hard time, and had no problem getting physical with his objections. In combat, where all differences were set aside, Seeley Booth was fiercely protective of every soldier fighting on his side. In fact, protecting those around him seemed to be the trademark of Seeley Booth.

That quality was put to the test when tragedy struck their unit. Details of a mission had been leaked, and four U.S. soldiers were killed because the enemy had been waiting and had ambushed them. Because of his fluency speaking Arabic, Naji was frequently tapped to serve in communications. Predictably, suspicion immediately fell upon him as the source of the leak. Emotions and prejudices were running high.

Seeley Booth had defended his friend, worked to help clear his name, and ultimately been responsible for finding the source of the leak, undoubtedly saving other soldiers' lives in the process. All of this he had taken upon himself to do without orders, in the name of loyalty, to the point of endangering his own record and putting himself at risk of court martial.

He had also, quite literally, saved Naji's life when some of the men - friends of the fallen soldiers - had believed it their duty to administer justice. Booth had put himself between his friend and the men, and had quite literally saved his life that night. It was that act for which Naji was forever grateful, and which he had always felt the need to repay. Seeley Both, on the other hand, insisted that loyalty was a natural part of friendship, and no repayment was necessary.

Both men had gone on to stellar service records and careers, never completely losing contact along the way.

At the end of their commissions, when both left the Army, Naji had already chosen his next path. He had heard of the tremendous money to be made in civilian contracting - doing the same type of work he had done in the Army, only as a private contractor and with hundreds of times the money and danger.

He proved to be a natural, and soon had his own company. Never one to do anything the easy way, Naji took on the most dangerous jobs in the most dangerous parts of the world, making exorbitant amounts of money. He hired only the best of the best, and had spent many hours trying to convince his friend Seeley Booth to join him as a full partner.

Booth had chosen his own path, however, and was already deep into FBI training at Quantico. Naji thought that he was crazy, but had respected his decision.

Soon, Naji only had to work a few weeks out of the year to maintain the opulent lifestyle he had adopted. For safety and security's sake, he had cut most ties and lived below the radar, running his company. Before going underground, however, he had made sure Seeley Booth could reach him if he ever needed him. He had given Booth a phone number and a code and made him promise to remember it, despite Booth's protestations that he would never seek repayment for just doing the right thing.

Naji had been insistent. "After all," he had reasoned, "I'd be dead or in the stockade for the last 10 years if it weren't for you. Just take the damn number and use it if you ever need it."

ooo . ooo . ooo

Naji Basara was all business when he came on the line. There would be time to find out specifics and to catch up later. Right now, he was finally going to get the chance to return a favor. "When and where?"

Booth had expected nothing less, and knew his friend would wish to keep this conversation as brief as possible. There would be plenty of time to discuss details on their way to Tirana from the rendezvous point. "Rendezvous, airport, Lisbon. 15 hours."

Naji raised an eyebrow at that. Whatever kind of trouble his friend had landed in, time was obviously of the essence. "What should I wear?"

Booth caught the meaning of the question. "Come fully loaded."

That was all the information Naji wanted over the phone. "Lisbon, 15 hours. Got it."

And the line went dead.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Angela jumped to her feet as she saw Booth had disconnected his call and was making his way out of Brennan's office toward them. "Booth! Thank God! Is she okay? What's going on?"

Booth's eyes snapped over each of the three squints, making sure they were all present and paying attention. He didn't have time to do this more than once. All three knew to focus and pay attention - Booth was at his most dangerous when Brennan was in trouble. "She disappeared from her room sometime between 7:30 last night and 8:00 this morning, Albanian time. I last talked to her late yesterday afternoon, D.C. time. That's all I know."

The tension in the room was practically a physical presence as he continued. "Now here's what I need. Cam, I need you to use every contact you have to get me every piece of information available on Bones' NATO contact, Dr. Kreshnik Benjamin. I want to know what he's having for lunch tomorrow before he does."

"Got it," Cam replied.

"When you have that, I want you to help Angela. Angela, I need the names of every person on that dig team, the confirmation team, the rep who met her at the airport, and anybody in either government with a political dog in this fight. I don't care what you have to do or what system you have to hack into. I need names and everything else you can find out about them. I'm looking for a motive. Check bank accounts. If anybody has had a sudden windfall, I need to know about it yesterday."

Angela's eyes widened slightly at what Booth was asking of her, but she simply nodded.

Cam, however, spoke up. "Booth, you do realize what you're asking her to do? Why not just call in the authorities?"

Booth vehemently shook his head. "No! From what Bones told me, this situation is about two steps shy of becoming an international incident. Benjamin has probably already notified the local cowboys. The last thing I'm going to let happen is for this to become some kind of jurisdictional pissing contest that gets her killed. No fucking way. I need whoever has her to think he's only up against the local police."

Angela chose that moment to regain her voice. "I'm on it, Booth. Cam, it's not a problem."

Hodgins was the very picture of nervous energy. "What do you need from me?"

Booth had no time for beating around the bush, so he once again took the direct route. "Funds and transportation. I need a private Gulfstream jet. I've got to be in Lisbon in 15 hours to rendezvous with a contact, refuel, and then get to Tirana."

Hodgins did not even blink. "Whatever you need, man. I'll have the plane on the tarmac with a pilot in less than an hour, and the money will be there waiting for you. How much do you need?"

It was Booth's turn not to blink. "Enough to stock a small army."

Jack Hodgins actually smiled at that. "Yeah, I can do that."

As he turned away, already dialing his phone, Booth stopped him. "Hey Hodgins?"

Hodgins turned to face him. "Yeah, man?"

"Thank you. I'll find a way to repay you."

Again, Jack smiled. "Don't mention it. I'd be dead in a car 3-feet under the ground if not for either one of you. You're not paying me back a dime. Just…bring back the change, all right?"

Booth watched as all three worked, noticing that nobody had wandered very far. Cam and Angela had both commandeered computer terminals directly beside the platform where he stood, Angela typing furiously as Cam juggled the computer, her phone and the pen she was furiously scribbling with. Jack was on his phone not 5 feet away from him, making the arrangements.

It was an eclectic, strange little family unit he had found himself part of when Temperance Brennan had stormed into his life like a hurricane - but it was one he wouldn't trade for the world.

Thoughts of family gave him an idea for how to handle his boss, and he quickly dialed his phone again, breathing a sigh of relief that it was still before 6:00 A.M. and he would only be talking to voicemail. "Sir, this is Agent Booth. I have a family emergency that is going to require me to go out of town unexpectedly this morning. I'll be away for at least the rest of this week, but all my open case files are on my desk. Thank you, sir."

Booth had no more than disconnected when he heard from behind his shoulder, "What kind of family emergency? Is everything okay with Parker?"

Four heads immediately snapped around and looked right at Dr. Lance Sweets.

Sweets seemed honestly confused. "I got a page that there was an emergency and to get here as fast as I could."

Cam froze. "I forgot again - he's on my speed dial, and I just paged the whole group. Booth…"

Booth filled him in with everything he needed to know. "Bones has disappeared in Albania. _I'm_ going to go get her back. _You're_ not going to tell anybody. Got it?"

Sweets never had a chance to answer before one more voice chimed in, effectively taking the focus off of Sweets in dramatic fashion.

"What can I do?"

Five mouths dropped open. There, standing right in the middle of the Jeffersonian offering his assistance, stood one Zack Addy.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Although her captor was not yet aware of it, Temperance Brennan had been conscious and somewhat coherent for quite some time.

As the drugs in her system began to wear off, the first sensation of which she was fully conscious was a pounding headache that demanded all of her initial attention, dragging a groan from her lips.

The young archaeologist who had so recklessly kidnapped her sat only a few feet away, obsessively poring once more over every detail of his notes from the dig, desperate to find where he had gone wrong. Tonight he hoped to make contact with the extremely dangerous men he had sought out - the men to whom he planned to sell his captive and end his financial woes. He knew exactly what type of men they were - rich men, peddling human flesh through underground organizations, with no concern for the young women whose horrific abuse lined their pockets. No matter - their money was what interested him.

The fate to which he was surely condemning her was of no concern to him. The only fate he had truly ever cared about was his own. It was exactly that selfishness which had led him to the shadowy underworld, enticing him to gamble away all he owned, destroying the young family he had started, and leaving him cripplingly indebted to men who would not think twice about killing him.

His career was the one thing that he'd had left, and even that had been in shambles before he had landed that dig. His discovery there had catapulted him to the top of his field here in his country. For one moment, he had a chance to come away from his mistakes unscathed. Redemption had seemed to be in his grasp. And then both his world and his sanity had begun to collapse, culminating with the arrival of this woman. No, he would shed no tears for her fate. She had come to destroy him, but the money he was going to make off of her would save him.

The sound of her groan did not escape him, and he quickly grabbed another syringe, ready to put her under again if she showed signs of awakening.

The moment seemed to pass, however, as she neither moved nor made any other sound. Slowly, he put down the syringe, breathing a sigh of relief. He was in no way experienced at this type of thing, and knew very little about the drugs he had been giving her. He only knew that the dealer he had purchased them from had assured him they would keep a person quite effectively sedated.

He had not relished the thought of having to inject her again. She had been unconscious for so long now that he was worried he might have killed her. He felt no real concern for her, of course. He cared only that she was of no profit to him dead. At any rate, he knew he would need her at least semiconscious when the time came to make the deal. He returned to his notes, confident for now that she posed no threat. As fate would have it, he had turned away again at exactly the right moment.

Slowly - ever so slowly - Brennan was working her eyes open. The dim light in the room seemed blinding to her, amplifying the pounding in her skull. As her eyes took a few moments to focus, all she could initially see of her surroundings were blurred images swimming in front of her eyes. Trying to move, she believed at first that she must be bound - her arms and legs did not seem to want to move.

As her vision cleared a little more, she saw a man only a few feet away, sitting at a plain wooden table, engrossed in what appeared to be stacks and stacks of papers. Though she could only see his blurred profile, it was enough to jolt her muddled brain into action. Almost like watching a slideshow, images flashed through her mind - a sidewalk; bags flying everywhere; pain; and then nothing.

As the man turned once again to glance in her direction, she had the presence of mind to quickly close her eyes, scarcely daring to breathe. She had no way of knowing what he wanted with her, but he seemed content to leave her alone so long as he thought she was unconscious. She knew that she needed to keep him believing that for as long as possible. Maybe she could buy herself enough time for her body to regain strength for an attack on her captor. Or maybe it would give Booth just enough time to….

 _'Booth.'_ At that thought, she could feel the beginning of tears welling up behind her eyelids. The thought of his name sent hope surging through her, but there was something else there too - something that was almost wistfully painful. It was a sensation that was becoming more and more frequent when thoughts of her partner invaded her mind. She always declined to analyze it, telling herself it was irrational. In reality, it terrified her, though she refused to admit that even to herself.

Desperate to get a grip on her reactions, she drew focus from the one fact of which she was entirely certain: her partner would be looking for her. Even without knowing how long she had been here, she knew that by now Booth had surely realized something was wrong. If her captor intended to keep her drugged and unable to fight, then she just had to stay alive long enough for Booth to find her. And find her he would. Jack Hodgins had once called it faith. Temperance Brennan scoffed at the idea of faith. What _she_ had was complete trust in Seeley Booth, and complete confidence that her trust was not misplaced.

Ignoring the still throbbing headache that screamed for her attention, she very slowly peeked out from underneath her lashes. Her kidnapper was once again turned away from her. Experimentally, she tested her toes and fingers, careful not to make a sound against the blankets. As she tensed and relaxed the muscles in her arms and legs, she was finally able to comprehend that she was lying on a pile of blankets on a hard floor. There were no ropes or shackles. Other than the effect of the drugs, she was not subdued in any way.

Realizing this, she knew it was even more important for her captor not to discover her state of consciousness. Although she was currently not in any condition for a physical confrontation, her body was already responding more normally; perhaps soon she could take him by surprise. Alert to any movement by him, she scanned as much of her surroundings as she could, carefully continuing to flex and release her stiff muscles, feeling her bodily control slowly return.

There were no windows in the room. The only furniture was the wooden table and the chair occupied by the man. He was between her and the only door to the room, which was closed. On the tabletop she could see the stacks of paper the man was angrily sorting through, along with a syringe that she could only assume held more of the drug he had used to sedate her.

Her vision was still slightly blurry, and she resisted the urge to shake her head to help clear it as she attempted to get a clear glimpse of what the man was working on. The documents were too far away to read, but she could see that there were also pictures and drawings. In his agitated state he had carelessly knocked some items to the ground, and one 8x10 picture had landed partially upright, resting against the leg of the table.

Her breath caught in her throat once again as she realized what she was looking at. That same picture was in the file she had been studying on the plane. This man must be in some way related to the work she had come here to do. If she could figure out who he was, maybe she could find a way to help Booth find her.

Fighting against the headache that only seemed to be increasing, mind still slightly foggy from the drugs, she fought to make full use of her reasoning skills. The man was young - late 20s to early 30s, she would estimate. Facial structure and features indicated Southeastern European descent, possibly Albanian, which made sense.

Her already overtaxed brain was not cooperating as she struggled to remember anything that the file had said about the dig team. Only one name had figured prominently, and she remembered that the young archaeologist who had made the initial discovery fit the profile in age and ethnicity.

As the battle between her mind and the drugs continued to rage, the pieces began to fit together. Certainly no one else would stand to gain or lose as much from her examination of the remains as the discoverer of the find. Though there were certainly political considerations involved, he seemed too young to have attained the political power of the players involved in this. Despite her aversion to drawing hasty conclusions, this time she was comfortable in doing so: her kidnapper was the archaeologist who had made the discovery.

Once again, she fought a fierce battle with the pain in her head as she drew a mental picture of the file she had studied. The man's name was in there. She just had to see it. Frustration filled her as the name danced just outside the edge of her weakened memory. His signature was on every report she had reviewed, and she just couldn't grab hold of it.

Her eyes were already closed in intense concentration, so the sudden scraping of the chair against the floor was a surprise and she jumped slightly. She made no further movement, keeping her breathing steady, even as her heart hammered in her chest. She heard footsteps, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.

Once again, she tentatively opened her eyes. The man had left the room. Drawing her eyes back to the table, she saw something she hadn't seen before - something that the man's body had blocked her from seeing. She recognized the object instantly, as well she should. It was her phone. He must have taken it from her pocket and held onto it.

It was at that exact moment that her memory supplied the name she had been looking for. Edon Tolka. The man's name was Edon Tolka.

She could hear the sound of water running from somewhere nearby, and made her decision. She would have to be fast.

Dragging herself to her knees, every muscle screaming, she managed to reach the table on her hands and knees and grab the phone before collapsing back to the floor with it. Placing a call was too risky - if Booth was already on a plane here and his voicemail picked up, she could be discovered before the greeting completed and she had time to leave a message. She knew she would only get once chance, and she had to be fast.

Brennan quickly decided on the simplest message for her to send - a 6-digit numerical message. It was a crude code, the simplest she could think of - but Booth would figure it out. He had to. Fighting her fumbling fingers, her manual dexterity still extremely poor, she managed to type in the first 5 numbers before the sound of running water stopped. She froze as she heard footsteps coming toward her.

There was no time. The message had to go through, completed or not, and she could no longer trust her finger to find the sixth number in time. Thanks to her sudden exertions, the room seemed to be spinning, and she was seeing double. She managed to make her finger find the button that would send the message to Booth's phone.

With one last burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, she managed to lift her body up and place the phone back where she had found it. She crashed back to the floor beside the table, only a split second before she heard the door open.

Time seemed to stand still as captive and captor both momentarily froze, eyes locked for the first time as he stood staring down at her.

ooo . ooo . ooo

For one moment, silence reigned at the Jeffersonian. Angela, of course, was the first to break it, and in the next moment Zack was being peppered with rapid fire questions.

"Zack!"

By the time Angela had spoken, Hodgins was already by Zack's side, grinning broadly as he clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Where did _you_ come from?"

His statement was immediately followed by Cam's, "Why are you here?"

"Uh, and _how_ did you get here," Sweets wanted to know.

Booth watched the entire exchange silently as Zack answered all three questions, looking from Hodgins to Cam to Sweets in turn: "The asylum. To help, obviously. The bus."

All eyes turned to Booth as he finally spoke. "How did you get out?"

Zack answered smoothly, but with a mildly terrified expression as he faced Booth. "I decline to answer that question. I am quite certain that it would not be in my best interests to disclose that information." He hesitated for just a moment, then asked "Are…you going to shoot me?"

Jack just stood grinning, looking from Booth to Zack as though he were watching a tennis match. "Translation," he supplied helpfully. "If he tells you how he did it, he won't be able to do it next time."

Meanwhile, Cam and Angela were eyeing Booth nervously as they braced for the explosion that never came. To their relieved surprise, Booth just gave a single nod to Zack's response, followed by another question - "How did you know what was going on here?"

Zack replied, "Again, I am quite certain that it would be best not to disclose that information."

Sweets stood behind the platform rail, hands braced wide, shaking his head as he muttered to himself, "Best for _who_?" At the look Angela shot him, he stood up with his hands held out in the classic questioning stance - "What? This - he - I am, like, so totally fired! I mean, come on, seriously? What, does he have this entire place bugged? Is he monitoring our phones? What _else_ does he have in that place?" Ending his rant and dropping his hands back to the rail and shaking his head again, he whispered, "I am _so_ fired."

Zack turned to regard the psychologist. "That is doubtful. I can assure you that none of the asylum staff is or will be aware of my absence for some time. Unless, of course, you choose to notify them. "

Angela now stood by Hodgins, pointing her finger at him knowingly. "Did _you_ have anything to do with this?"

The permanent grin that now seemed to be affixed to the resident bug and slime guy grew even broader. "Probably."

At this, Cam held up a hand - "I don't even want to know."

"Well, _I_ do," Angela chuckled. "What did you do?"

"Nothing, that I'm aware of. But this is Zack we're talking about. He probably built some kind of holographic projection of himself from the fruitcake I sent him, right Zack?"

Zack shook his head. "No. That would be impossible. And you have never actually sent me a fruitcake. Agent Booth, is there anything that I can do to help in the search for Dr. Brennan?"

In the general chaos, no one had even glanced in Booth's direction since his last question. Now, however, every eye turned to him. Complete silence fell on the room once again at what they saw.

No one but Booth had heard his cell phone notifying him of the incoming message. His heart had nearly stopped when he had seen that the message was from Bones' cell phone. He stood clutching his own phone before him, staring intently at something on the display as if his life depended on unraveling its secrets. The look in his eye was so intense that everyone in the room almost forgot to breathe.

"Yeah, Zack," he said without looking up, in a voice so quiet that it almost seemed as if the entire room leaned forward to hear him. "I have something you can do."

ooo . ooo . ooo

As Edon Tolka reentered the room where he held Temperance Brennan captive, the sight he saw before him enraged him. The forensic anthropologist, who had appeared unconscious just moments before when he had left the room, was now halfway across the room by his table.

His eyes scanned the tabletop, noticing her phone. Fury filled him as he concluded that she must have been going for her phone to call for help. Reaching out and grabbing it, he thrust the phone safely into his pocket before making a grab for her, murder in his eyes.

With strength she didn't think she still had, Temperance Brennan flipped herself to her back, scissoring her legs in an effort to sweep the man's legs and bring him down. Her body was still suffering the effects of the drugs, her movements imprecise. She did succeed in bringing him down, but toward her, and his full weight crashed onto her chest.

In her weakened condition, her sudden movement had made her dizzy, and the added punishment of having the breath knocked out of her was more than she could fight. Her lungs burned, her head still pounded, and her vision blurred again. She fought desperately but blindly, arms flailing and hands scratching any surface she could contact.

Anger filled the man as her hands made contact, scratching him hard enough to draw blood. Raising up slightly over her, he drew his arm back and backhanded her across the face, stunning her and temporarily knocking the fight out of her. Grabbing her by the hair, he jerked her upright onto her knees, where she swayed.

He dug his fingers cruelly into the flesh of her arms, hard enough that it would certainly leave bruises, and dragged her unsteadily to her feet. Half supporting her and half dragging her by her arms, he pulled her out of the room with him. He needed to find something to secure her with before she regained enough strength to attempt another escape, but he could no longer leave her alone in the room.

He dragged her into a hallway, from which she could see that she must be inside a small residential home. Pulling her into the next room, which appeared to her to be the man's bedroom, he slammed the door behind them.

He threw her unceremoniously to the ground as he strode to the window, yanking loose the 2 decorative rope cords that tied back the curtains. Determined not to give up, she tried to push to her knees and reach the door, but he was too fast for her. Pushing her roughly onto her stomach, he ground a knee into her back and grabbed for her flailing arms.

Screaming, she tried desperately to fight him, but her body was at its limit from the abuse she had already taken, making her no match for him. He tied her wrists very tightly behind her back, the thin cords cutting into her arms painfully. That task completed, he tied the other length of cord around her ankles, knotting it securely.

Her ability to fight physically taken away from her, Brennan tried to reason with the man. Her voice, hoarse and rough, sounded strange to her own ears after so many hours of nonuse. "Why are you doing this? You're a scientist, like me. Please, why are you doing this?"

Edon Tolka spoke some English - enough to understand the woman's pleas if he had wished to, but he most certainly did not. He grabbed a shirt from the ground, ripped a long strip of material from it, and began rolling up the center portion. Bending down, he grabbed her face with one hand, so hard that she cried out, and shoved the rolled up portion of the material between her teeth with the other. He tied and knotted the material behind her head, muffling her cries.

Sitting back on his heels, breathing deeply from his exertions, the man tried to force himself to calm down.

He would have to make the deal tonight. The beautiful American doctor was becoming too much to deal with, exposing him to too much risk.

He frowned as he considered his plan. He would have to take her with him, of course, but getting her into his van should be no problem with her secured as she was. He knew where to find the men he needed to meet, so there was no problem there either. The problem was going to be the actual meeting. The easiest way would be to leave her in the van until the transaction was completed and let them deal with her. But he knew they would never take his word and make a purchase sight unseen. He needed pictures.

Suddenly, inspiration struck. Remembering her phone in his pocket, he pulled it out. He had never owned a phone as nice as hers, but thought that surely a word famous forensic anthropologist would have a camera in her phone. Sure enough, she did. After a moment of learning the controls, he turned the camera on her, taking several pictures.

He frowned at the angry mark on her cheek where he had struck her, and the red marks from where his hand had dug into her face applying the gag. Both were visible around the edges of the material. They showed clearly in the pictures, as did the imprints of his fingers on her arms, soon-to-be bruises which stood out in stark relief on the pale skin of her arms beneath the edge of the short-sleeved top she wore. He had not meant to damage the merchandise, and hoped his actions had not lowered the price he would receive.

Those marks would fade, however, and she was still a beautiful woman. He felt confident she would draw a good price. Smiling, he scrolled once more through the pictures, thinking he might even keep this very nice phone. Yes, his life was beginning to improve.

ooo . ooo . ooo

"What do you think it means, Booth?" Angela asked worriedly, staring over Zack's shoulder at the numbers which now occupied his computer screen - 3 8655. The rest of the squint squad had scattered to their various tasks. Zack had immediately thrown himself into the task of deciphering the message, though with his injured hands and without more information or a frame of reference, they all knew the task could prove to be difficult and time-consuming. The code could be a location, name, or any one of a thousand other possibilities.

"3 8655. What does it mean? It's from Bren, right?" Angela continued. "So that means she's alive. But why would she send you a numeric text? Why wouldn't she just…call you?"

There were just too many possible answers to that question, and every single one of them made Booth's gut clench with terror. He simply couldn't bring himself to go there at that exact moment, not if he was going to keep it together long enough to finish what he needed to do in D.C. and get to Bones. His tone as he answered Angela was gentle but firm. "Leave that to me and Zack. I need you working on getting the information I asked for. Cam!"

"I'm here," Cam replied, ending the call she was on and returning to the room.

"She sent me a message," he started.

Cam's approach was one of caution, meant to keep her friend from getting his hopes up. "Her phone sent you a message, Seeley. You can't automatically assume it's from her. What if the message came from whoever took her? They could've just sent it to the first name on her speed dial."

Teeth clenched, jaw muscles jumping, he started again in a tone that invited no argument. "Her phone sent me a message, which means that her _phone_ is turned _on_."

Cam's eyes widened. "Oh God. I see where you're going. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Booth!" Hodgins voice boomed from across the room as he strode toward Booth and Cam. "The money is ready, and the jet will be ready to take off in 30 minutes. Is Zack having any luck yet on the code?"

Zack replied for himself before Cam or Booth could respond. "No. Deciphering encoded data is a process that employs logic and reasoning skills. Luck is not involved."

Booth ignored them both and continued his conversation with Cam. "I need to know where that cell phone is. As long as it's still turned on, we can locate her position to within 75 square miles. At least it'll be enough to let me know if she's still in the damn country."

Sweets joined the small group. "You'll need the FBI tech guys to get that done, and you can't make the request because you're out of town on a 'family emergency,'" Sweets pointed out, emphasizing the final words with air quotes. "And none of us can request it without an active case number."

Cam nodded sympathetically. "He's right, Booth."

"Damnit!" Booth exploded, knowing Sweets and Cam were both right. His control was beginning to wear thin. He knew Naji could get the information, but he had no way of contacting him again before reaching the rendezvous point, a good 10 hours away at best. Booth passed a hand over his face, desperately trying to hold onto the thin thread of control that seemed to be eluding him.

Zack had turned in his chair to face them. "There might be another way." He turned his gaze directly on Jack. "Perhaps this would be an acceptable time to mention the experiment that you told me never to mention in front of the FBI?"

Every eye turned toward Hodgins, who was busy shoving his hands in his pockets and fixing a leery eye on the very high-strung Booth. "Oh-ho! That's great, Zack. Very subtle, especially considering that the _FBI_ is standing right _there_ and _there_ ," he finished in a loud stage-whisper, bobbing his head in the direction of Booth and Sweets.

Sweets closed his eyes. "Yeah. I'm totally fired."

Cam's voice was dry as she asked the question. "I suppose this is another one of those things you know nothing about, like how Zack knows everything that goes on here and seems to be able to just walk in and out of the asylum like he owns the place?"

"No, this one I _might_ know something about." Hodgins had actually managed to sound slightly sheepish. "What? Okay, let me first say that I believe all forms of technology and information-gathering should be accessible to everyone, not censored and held back for government bureaucrats to control us with."

"And?" Cam prompted.

"And - and Zack's a genius, and we had nothing to do one weekend." he finished.

Zack was nodding his head. "It is truly amazing the amount of instructional information that is readily available on the World Wide Web."

Cam was incredulous. "Dare I ask what else you guys can do that I don't know about?"

"No," she received in perfect stereo from Hodgins and Zack.

Cam was still muttering something under her breath about circuses, ringleaders, and too many geniuses under the big top when Booth cut in, managing to break the entire conversation down to the one point he actually cared about - "Hodgins, you can find out where her phone is." It wasn't a question.

"Well yeah - the general area anyway. May take a while."

Booth sharply nodded once, clearly indicating he should do exactly that.

As Booth turned, clearly planning to make his exit, Cam walked with him. Sweets followed closely on their heels. "There's one more thing you should know, Booth," Cam told him. "I just hung up with Dr. Benjamin. He's cooperating fully. Frankly, I think he's more than a little terrified at the thought that he requested her presence and now she's missing. He's singing like a canary."

That stopped him in his tracks. Seeing she had Booth's full attention, Cam continued. "As it turns out, both the dig team and the confirmation team have done some work for their government before. To get their security clearances, they had to submit to full background checks, including psych evaluations. Dr. Benjamin's going to electronically transmit everything he has to me. And get this - the debriefings that Benjamin conducted on all of the archaeologists when this confirmation situation first started to blow up? They were videotaped. He's having them converted so he can e-mail them to me. I'm still doing some checking into Dr. Benjamin, but my gut tells me he's not your guy."

Booth nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you, Cam. I owe you one. That'll cut Angela's job in half. Have her concentrate now on anything else these backgrounds don't cover, especially bank accounts. Hodgins is working on the cell trace, and I want Zack doing nothing but working on that code. And keep me informed. I've got at least 16 hours in the air, with a stop in Lisbon to refuel. You guys find out anything, I know about it first. You got it?"

Not even waiting for an answer, he continued. "Sweets, would you mind taking a look at those psych evals and videotapes for me when Cam gets them? See if you like anybody for this?"

Sweets nodded, glad there was some way he could help out. "Yeah, absolutely. I'm glad you asked."

Once again Booth turned to leave, and once again he was stopped, this time by Sweets.

"Agent Booth? When you called in to the boss, you told him you had a family emergency." It didn't come out like a question, but there was clearly something the younger man was looking for.

Though under different circumstances he might have scoffed or insulted the young doctor, for once Seeley Booth gave him an honest answer. Almost sadly, he repeated words he had spoken once before - words that would always, for him, have the taste of missed opportunity: "There's more than one kind of family."

The small smile on Sweets' face said he understood.

Something in the exchange had spoken to Cam as well, because she dared to stop him one last time, placing a hand on his arm.

"Seeley, wait." She hesitated a moment.

Booth looked at his old friend curiously, a mixture of respect and impatience in his face.

"Maybe - I think when you find her this time, you should tell her," she said quietly.

"Tell her what?"

Cam ignored that, as only an old friend could. "Seeley, tell her. Tell her before this happens again one day and you don't get the chance. I _know_ you, and I know you couldn't live with that."

He flinched at that, but merely looked at her. Her words had clearly affected him.

This time as he nodded and turned to leave, no one dared to stop him.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Still running on pure adrenaline, Booth ran the siren the whole way and made it to the airport in record time. True to Hodgins' word, the small Gulfstream jet that would carry him to Lisbon was primed and ready. A briefcase rested in a seat beside the door, and Booth let out a low whistle when he saw the contents. How Hodgins had managed to put together such a large amount of money in an hour, even with his almost unlimited means, Booth would never understand. Though the money was mostly in dollars, Hodgins had even seen to it that he had a portion of it in lek, the Albanian currency. Lack of funds would certainly not limit his search, and he wouldn't have to take the time to exchange. Perfect.

Looking around the interior, Booth had to admit he was impressed. Plush leather seats, a small kitchen area, a couch, even an extremely comfortable looking bed. Hodgins certainly knew how to travel, although in reality he doubted the scientist had ever set foot aboard. In the seat beside the briefcase he found a computer, obviously left there for him. Upon examination of it, he was relieved to find that it was fully equipped and set up to videoconference with the Jeffersonian at the touch of a button. Hodgins had truly thought of everything.

From the time he had come to the terrifying conclusion that something had happened to Bones until now, Booth had not stopped moving. He had been consumed with some task at every moment since he had left his apartment. Now, however, there was nothing else for him to do but wait.

He had not been very long in the air when the adrenaline finally wore off and the full reality of the situation crashed onto him. Bones was almost 5000 miles away from anyone who cared about her, possibly injured, possibly even…

And he was helpless to do anything for her. The first leg of his journey, D.C. to Lisbon, where he would meet Naji, would take about 10 hours. He knew that he could trust Cam, Sweets and the squints to wring every possible piece of information out of every lead they could. Yes, he trusted them. He only wished there were something _he_ could be doing, and that the one he trusted most was safe there with them.

The thought crossed his mind that except for the three hours he had dozed on his couch, it had been quite some time since he had slept. Although sleep seemed a near impossibility in his current state of mind, he reminded himself that he needed to think rationally. A rueful smile ghosted across his face - _'No way in hell I'd ever let her hear me say_ _that_ _.'_

Still, the rational fact was that he was going to have to force himself to sleep, no matter how guilty he would feel about it. He had done all he could at this point. Bones needed him to be 100% on top of his game. He would have to do this for her. He absolutely would not run the risk of her being hurt because he missed something or screwed up in a state of exhaustion. The idea was completely unacceptable.

Many times as a sniper, on the hunt, deep in enemy territory for weeks at a time, he had forced himself to take the opportunities to sleep when they came. It was just another task to be carried out - just another part of the mission.

Toeing off his shoes and stretching out across the bed, he laid an arm across his eyes. He would do the same now. He could force himself to shut down and sleep as he had then. This was just another mission - except for the fact that it wasn't.

 _'It's Bones. It's different._ '

For the second time that day, his own words - spoken in a different time and different context - were coming back to his mind unbidden, for the purpose of haunting him. Again, they played through his mind. _'It's Bones. It's different,'_ he had told Caroline.

That time he had been preparing to testify against her father for murder - a murder he had ultimately found himself implicating _her_ in. _"Fuck."_ Some memories he could simply do without. This time he was trying to convince himself that going halfway around the world to do whatever it took to save her was the same to him as any other mission he had ever carried out. _'Who am I kidding?'_ None of those missions had quite consumed him in the way this one did. Never had success been more crucial.

And he didn't even have to wonder why, he suddenly realized.

All the way from the Jeffersonian to the airport, ever since that conversation with Sweets and Cam, he had been trying not to think about Cam's words. There had been no doubt in his mind what she meant.

"More than one type of family," he had told Sweets, and meant it. The words had given him vivid memories of the taste of missed opportunity on his tongue - a bittersweet flavor he had tasted just moments after speaking those words to Bones outside the diner. It had not been the flavor he had longed for.

As if the conversation with Sweets hadn't been enough…

"Tell her," Cam had stated, and had proceeded to sucker punch him with the gut-twisting idea of losing her forever before he could. That was a low blow, but then Cam never had been one to pull any punches. Crude, but effective - she had known what the thought would do to him, and that fact in itself had him thinking.

Booth rolled to his stomach and pulled the pillow over his head, wishing he could turn off his troubled brain. But the thoughts of Max's trial, unfortunately, had led him straight to another little jewel from his own mouth - another one that had been followed by the bittersweet taste of missed opportunity - _"Just take the brain, put it in neutral; take the heart, pop it into overdrive."_

And God help him, she had actually listened to him. And the results could have been disastrous. Feeling like a complete hypocrite, he wondered if she was the one who had been right all along. His advice to think with her heart could have landed her on death row.

And wasn't it his brain, after all - not his heart - that he listened to on a daily basis where she was concerned? It was certainly his brain that kept her at arm's length, subconsciously and constantly calculating the risk of losing her completely if he were to follow his own advice and think with his heart.

As for his heart, on the other hand…

He wasn't exactly sure when his heart had crossed the line he had drawn for it. It certainly had not happened in a blinding flash, nor had it even been something he recognized. It had been more of a slow progression, an ember that had kindled into flame almost unnoticed, as spending time with her became his favorite pastime and keeping her safe - and single - became his obsession.

Then, of course, there was his body, and the fantasies that he rarely admitted to himself by light of day. Those weren't new - he was not, contrary to her belief, a prude, and she was clearly a beautiful woman - but they had certainly been increasing steadily in frequency and intensity. Some of the things he had dreamed about her recently might even make _her_ blush, and that was saying a lot. Perhaps even more telling was the fact that now it was her - only her - in all of them, and that there was an emotional aspect to them along with the physical. That had never happened to him before. Ever. In the dark of night there were the dreams and fantasies that he would reluctantly relinquish to the morning light and spend all day ruthlessly trying to forget.

None of it really mattered now, though. Brain, heart, body - for once they would just all have to be in agreement. His fate had been sealed the moment Cam had implanted the terror in his mind of Bones leaving this world without ever knowing how he felt about her. He'd never sleep another peaceful night if that were to happen. Cam had known it and he had known it. _'Hell, Sweets probably even knew it, and he's 12_ ,' his mind berated him.

He would tell her. When he found her, he would leave no doubt in her mind of exactly how important she was to him: in brain, heart, and someday - if she would have him - body. Even if she ran, even if he lost her completely, she would know that somebody finally loved her enough that if _anybody_ were going to do the abandoning, it would _by God_ be her, not him.

 _'Nothing,'_ he vowed to himself, _'can stop me from making sure she knows.'_ Strangely enough, once the decision was made, it was only moments before sleep mercifully claimed him.

It's a funny thing about absolute statements like that. Fate, as a rule, seems determined to prove them wrong - unsinkable ships, icebergs, and such. Had he known at that moment what he would have to do to save her and how much it would cost them - had he known exactly how much he would be forced to hurt them both - his sleep could not have been so peaceful; for he would have realized that there was indeed something coming that could stop him.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Temperance Brennan squeezed her eyes shut, no longer caring about the tears that were freely flowing down her cheeks, and forced herself to focus on breathing evenly. She lost that battle as the movement of the van once again jolted her painfully, ripping another muffled sob from her throat.

Many hours had passed since her kidnapper had roughly tied her, and the muscles in her shoulders and arms were screaming for relief. She had struggled hard against her bonds; now the burning of her raw, tightly bound wrists competed for her attention against the painful throbbing in her cheek where Tolka had struck her earlier. With each movement of her head, the crudely crafted gag that he had shoved between her teeth dug into the skin of her face. Mouth completely dry, she needed water desperately.

When he had taken the pictures of her with her phone and then left her alone on the hard floor, she had almost relaxed, believing this to be a simple kidnapping for ransom. She fully believed that such circumstances would provide ample time for Booth to locate her.

But when Tolka had returned hours later with a dark pillowcase and pulled it over her head, she had been certain he was going to kill her. The sudden loss of sight combined with the increased difficulty in breathing around her gag had only exacerbated that fear for Brennan. She had fought desperately to dislodge the encasing cloth, but could not gain any leverage to do so. Completely restricted and unable to see, the feeling of helplessness was both frustrating and overwhelming. As she struggled, she had been able to hear him pressing buttons on her phone, and had ascertained that he must be taking another picture.

He had dragged her by her bound ankles for what had seemed an extremely long distance before she had felt his arms beneath her, lifting her. She had been completely disoriented, with no clue where he had taken her and no way of seeing what he would do next.

When he had swung her backwards for momentum and then carelessly tossed her across the empty space in the back of his large work van, her only awareness had been the horrifying sensation of being suddenly airborne. When she finally slammed into the opposite wall of the van, she had almost certainly bruised a rib or two; the extra tension on her already strained wrists and shoulders as she slid down the wall to the ground had been excruciating.

Despite the pain, her landing had been a welcome relief. In the split second after he had let her go, she had been certain that this man was throwing her to her death. The short flight seemed to have happened in slow motion, her mind racing. Every muscle in her body had tensed as she fell, not knowing whether to expect the relative mercy of a sudden final impact or the chilling prospect of a splash and a futile struggle against a watery grave. Stunned from her sudden collision with the van wall, she had only realized she was in a vehicle when the van had begun to move.

As the miles and minutes passed, it became increasingly difficult to breathe against the combined effects of the gag, the pillowcase, her newly sore ribs, and her own rising claustrophobia. Every time the motion of the van caused her to shift, the pillowcase would pull against her face and neck in a different way, momentarily panicking her each time until she would realize she could still pull in enough air.

The claustrophobia was perhaps worse than the physical agony for Brennan, who was all too familiar with the suffocating sensation of being trapped in a small space fearing that her next breath would be her last. Unbidden, vivid memories pushed to the surface - memories of a scared teenaged girl locked in the trunk of a car for 48 hours for breaking a dish; memories of her entombment in her own car at the hands of the Gravedigger. Suddenly, the desperation to escape hit her with an overwhelming intensity, panic threatening to push her over the edge. She fiercely fought the urge to break down, knowing that sobs and tears would only hamper her already labored breathing.

It had been her longstanding pattern to turn to the factual when the emotional threatened to break her, and she frantically sought that welcome respite again. Concentrating hard and controlling her breaths, she estimated that the van had been driving for well over two hours, sometimes traveling over roads that were obviously in poor condition. With that thought in mind, her emotions once again broke through, her sense of hopelessness growing. She was certainly far outside the city of Tirana at this point, where Booth's search for her would surely be centered. How was he going to find her?

 _'Booth.'_

Again, she was filled with that rush of hope in the face of hopelessness that seemed to define her partner. No matter how hopeless her situation, he had always come through - he had never given up on her.

Again, too, she was filled with that almost-painful feeling - the one that had become such a familiar companion of late, anytime her thoughts would turn to him in his absence. For once, she didn't push the feeling away and refuse to analyze it. For once, it didn't terrify her.

Facing the very real prospect that Tolka might kill her at any moment, she finally realized the futility of hiding herself behind her walls to avoid the risk of being hurt. No pain, she understood now, could equal the pain of dying alone, filled with regret for untaken chances.

So, for once, she was simply honest enough with herself to admit the truth she had long denied about her partner: _'I…have developed feelings for him.'_

The ring of truth in those words almost sent her reeling, but not in the way she might have expected. Although the thought of needing _anyone_ in her life would usually be appalling to her, she had already admitted to herself on the plane that she no longer resented his protectiveness - was, in fact, grateful for it. What blindsided her now was the realization that she didn't just need him to protect her or to rescue her from physical danger - she needed him, and wanted him, in every way _._

Her thoughts turned to the last time she had seen him. Booth had crushed her to him right there in front of the security gate in the middle of the airport, his voice low and intimate in her ear, pleading with her to be careful. She had been unable to reply as she had backed away a little too quickly, unable to reconcile his actions with her understanding of the nature of their partnership. But now, slowly, hesitantly, her mind tiptoed into foreign territory for her: _'Maybe he...has feelings for me too.'_

Suddenly, all of her senses heightened as she realized the van had come to a stop. The sound of the driver's door opening and closing was followed by complete silence. She tensed, waiting for the back door of the van to open. She tensed even more when it didn't happen.

Long minutes passed. The only sound audible to her ears was that of her own labored breaths.

Finally, what must have been a half hour later, she startled at the sound of the back door opening. The pillowcase was roughly jerked from her head, and she blinked her eyes several times as she tried to focus her vision. By the door of the van stood her kidnapper, Edon Tolka, only this time he wasn't alone. Another man was now in the van kneeling over her, appraising her in a way that sent shivers down her spine. Two other men flanked Tolka, both carrying guns.

A conversation in Albanian followed, which she was not able to completely follow. The money that changed hands, however, made the context perfectly clear. With complete horror, she realized that she was being sold, and for what probable purpose.

She could only lie there in utter helplessness as the two men with guns entered the van and approached her. She wanted to cry when the pillowcase was violently shoved back over her face. She could feel rough hands on her, grabbing at her arms. She tried to roll away onto her side, only to feel the swift punishment of a strike to her kidneys. A quick jab of a needle followed, and yet again she sank into darkness.

ooo . ooo . ooo

As he made the three hour drive from the city of Vlore back to Tirana, Edon Tolka could not believe how simple it had all been. Already, he had counted the money from his spotter's fee again and again. The American doctor had drawn a good price, though not as much as he had originally hoped. He still did not have quite enough to pay all of his debts.

No matter. With the amount of money he now held in hand, another plan began to formulate in his mind. He would simply use it to make more - if he could double his winnings, he could save himself from the dangerous men he owed, and still be rich. She had been his lady luck, and now he was going to win big. Yes, his luck had definitely changed. _'No one,'_ he stated, rather absolutely, _'can hurt me now.'_

ooo . ooo . ooo

When Booth awoke, the Gulfstream jet that carried him was making its final approach to Lisbon. Realizing that he had been asleep for almost his entire flight, he immediately grabbed his phone to make sure he had not missed any calls. There were none, and he resisted the temptation to fire up the computer and place a video call to the Jeffersonian. When Cam or any of the squints had information, he knew they would contact him. In the meantime, there were some things he needed to take care of while the plane refueled for the second leg of the journey to Tirana.

Quickly, he emptied the contents of the emergency bag he had brought. He had not returned to his apartment since he had left it early that morning, so he had nothing else with him aside from his gun, his phone, and the portable cell phone charger he had remembered to grab from his truck when he had arrived at the airport.

Opening the briefcase, he took a deep breath as he removed a large amount of money and stuffed it into the bag to take with him. He would need some supplies, and he knew exactly the place to go. He had traveled through many countries and cities during his time as a sniper, and had become quite adept at finding the resources he required. Lisbon was one of those cities, and Booth had chosen the city as the rendezvous point for a reason.

As he made his way into the city, feeling all of his old instincts awaken, Booth could not help but be struck by how surreal it seemed. He had spent years now putting his past well into his past, and struggling every day to keep it there. Although his actions had saved lives and served the greater good, he still spent an inordinate amount of time trying to atone for the deeds of his past, keeping tally of his 'cosmic balance sheet,' as Bones had said.

And yet there he was, all of his senses on full alert, as cognizant of every detail around him as he had ever been on any mission, aware even of the direction and speed of the wind as if he were planning the perfect shot. It was almost as though he was right back in that time period of his life, and nothing had ever changed.

Only there were so many things that _had_ changed. He was a father, and very dedicated to being a successful one. He was an FBI agent, using his training and own special skills to stop murderers and place them behind bars. And then there was Bones, for whom he was a partner and friend at the very least; why had it taken something like this to get him to admit to himself just how much more he wanted to be for her - her refuge, her lover, her _everything._

Although his life had changed in so many ways, it all seemed to be coming full circle back to this part of his past. In some strange way, it made sense to him. If he was to have a future with Bones, it was befitting that they first come face to face with the demons of his past, together.

He had always been reticent to speak to her on the subject. For her part, she had generally been unswervingly supportive and defensive of his past when the subject did arise, especially if anyone else dared malign him. Of course, being Bones, she had made the occasional untoward comment, completely unaware of just how much unintended pain she could cause him with one careless word. But he unfailingly would forgive her, because, somewhere along the way, her opinion of him had become one of the only two that mattered - hers and his son's. To protect either of them, he would more than double his kill list, without a qualm or regret, his cosmic balance sheet be damned. He would quadruple it if necessary to bring her home, and it would be worth it.

Still, he had been reluctant to tell her too much, revealing bits and pieces here and there, always carefully gauging her reaction. He had been more than a little relieved the time that he had angrily offered to tell her what he had done and she had thought better of hearing it - _'Good choice, Bones.'_ And yet in some ways, it had hurt. In some ways, he had wanted to tell her - had wanted to spill his guts to her, almost from the moment he met her.

His thoughts turned back to a conversation from the very first year of their partnership. Although he could not say that he had been in love with her at that time, he had at the very least felt deep respect for her. Her opinion of him had already mattered, deeply.

He had been trying to explain to her why mercenaries had chosen the secluded, abandoned warehouse to hold a terrified little boy captive. _'I used to do this kind of work,_ ' he had told her. She had believed the best of him - had thought he meant rescuing people. Years later, Booth could still hear the silence after he had corrected her - _'Or being the person they needed to be rescued from._ '

Now, fate had conspired to put them in a position where she would see both sides of that conversation firsthand. Yes, his primary mission was to perform a rescue. _'But when I get my hands on the bastard that took her - if he's hurt her…'_

He didn't allow himself to complete the thought, knowing that it was now inevitable that she would find out what he was capable of, up close and personal. He knew he would not hesitate - to do so could cost her life. Even so, the idea of exposing her to that side of him scared him on many levels, not the least of which was the petrifying idea of ever looking into her eyes and seeing fear of him. He was quite certain that would drop him faster than any bullet ever could - because God only knew that the one thing of which he was actually incapable was intentionally hurting or scaring her.

At least as far as he knew…

He had already decided to bring her home, by any means necessary _._ He could not fail in this mission. As he rounded the corner and entered the establishment where he would spend a large chunk of Hodgins' borrowed money to ensure that he was completely prepared for every eventuality, there was one eventuality he never considered. Never once did he envision the ultimate dilemma - what would he do if the one mission that must succeed required the one action he was incapable of?

ooo. ooo . ooo

Almost an hour later, Booth made his way back to the jet. His bag was now filled with the clothing, weapons and other items he had purchased from the well-hidden back room of the shop he had entered. He knew none of the merchandise was traceable.

As he arrived back at the plane, he had already decided that he was going to change his clothes and then place a video call to the Jeffersonian to check on their progress. He still had a good two hours before he expected Naji to arrive, and he wanted to spend the time as constructively as possible.

He found the small bathroom area to be fully stocked with toiletries, so he washed up before changing into some of his purchases. He pulled on the new short-sleeved black shirt and pants, and buckled on the black ankle and shoulder holsters. He emerged from the bathroom, intent on hooking up the computer and contacting Cam and the squints.

To his great surprise, he was greeted by the sight of his old friend Naji Basara, kicked back in one of the plush leather seats, legs casually propped up on the table in front of him.

"You done primping yet, Seel, or should I ask the pilot to delay takeoff?"

"Naji! How the hell did you get in here!" Booth strode toward his old friend, who rose to greet him. They met in the middle, shaking hands and slapping each other on the back.

Naji grinned broadly at the friend he had thought he might never see again. "Please, man, sneaking up on _you_? Not even the toughest thing I've done today. No wonder you've got your ass caught in a sling. Now what the hell kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, and more importantly, where did you get _this_ thing?" Naji asked, gesturing to indicate the jet in which they now stood.

Booth had not realized how much he had missed his old friend, and how much he was looking forward to catching up with him. He motioned to Naji to have a seat, then spoke briefly into the intercom to give the pilot the go-ahead to take off as soon as possible.

Drawing a deep breath, he sank into the chair opposite Naji and regarded him quietly for a moment. He wasn't really quite sure where to start. "Noj, you know I just did the right thing back then, right? I never expected to be paid back. Still don't. I'm not asking you to do me a favor. I want to hire you for a job."

Naji leaned forward, his look bordering between amusement and exasperation. "What, you mean like pay me for my services?" Booth's non-reply clearly told Naji that was exactly what he meant, so Naji just snorted and carried right on. "You still working for the feds, right, Seel? No offense, but what you make in a year wouldn't pay for the first hour I'm on the job, and that's just my coffee break. I'm not here to get paid. I'm here to help the best friend I ever had, and to keep a promise. Now what's going on?"

Booth clearly wasn't ready to let the issue go entirely, but he decided to drop it for the moment. "You got anybody working for you that speaks Albanian, Noj?"

Naji nodded. "Yep, I got me. Gheg and Tosk dialects, and most everything in between. I can speak Serbian, Croatian, and Russian, too, among about a dozen others, just in case you're interested. A little pig-Latin here and there, but that's a little rusty."

Booth let out a long whistle. "You serious, Naji? I knew you were good with languages back in the service, but I didn't know you were _that_ good."

Naji leaned back in his seat and just shrugged. "That's why I make the big bucks, Seel. It comes easy to me. I pick up another language every couple years, usually in conjunction with a mission I send my guys out on. So…we headed for Albania?"

Booth looked out the window, noticing that the jet had begun taxiing for takeoff. He was now less than 6 hours from arriving in Tirana where he could start looking for Bones. "Yeah, we're on our way to Tirana," he said quietly.

Naji hadn't missed the change in his friend's demeanor. "Okay. And what's in Tirana, Seeley? You gonna tell me or let it be a big surprise?" There was no reply as he continued. "The way I figure, it's gotta be something big for you to call me after all these years. It's gotta be even bigger for you to call me all the way to Lisbon, then freeze and clam up like this."

Booth stared at his fidgeting hands for a moment. "Yeah. This is pretty important to me, Naji." He fixed his eyes on a point over the other man's head as he went on. "My…partner went to Tirana to do some work for NATO and disappeared."

"Partner? What, like your FBI partner?"

"Yeah, something like that," Booth answered simply, sparing a glance at Naji, not really wanting to get caught up in the idiosyncrasies of how Bones wasn't FBI but was still his partner.

Naji's expression was unreadable. "Okay, I'm missing something here, buddy. Where do I come in? What kind of trouble do you think your partner's in over there? He piss off the mob or something? Give away military secrets?"

Booth closed his eyes and sighed. He hadn't been looking forward to this part, but there was really no other way around it. Naji was good as his word and would be purely professional the moment they hit the ground. Of that Booth had no doubt. But if there was one thing Naji had always loved, it was a good tidbit he could use to torment Seeley Booth and make him blush; and right now Booth was trapped on a plane with him for the next 6 hours. Dragging a hand through his hair, he finally answered. "No. My partner went over to do some authentication on an archaeological dig site, and then disappeared."

Opening his eyes, this time he looked Naji dead in the eye. His voice was steady as he continued. "I think she's been kidnapped, and I'm not taking any chances. I need your help to get her back."

Naji's eyebrows had hit the top of his head on the third word. There was no qualifier on his promise of aid - he had promised help and he would help. But still, if Booth hadn't obviously been serious as a heart attack, Naji would not have been able to resist the urge to tease him mercilessly. As it was, he couldn't stop the slow grin that spread across his face. "She? Well why the hell didn't you just say so in the first place?"

Booth shot him a look. "That a rhetorical question?"

Naji grinned. "No, it just makes one hell of a lot more sense. A guy's FBI partner goes missing, what's he gonna do? He's gonna call in the rest of the feds, maybe lead a search party. But a guy goes rogue, travels halfway around the world and goes in with guns blazing, ready to shoot anything that moves, that can only mean one thing. It means somebody looks pretty damn good in a short skirt."

To Naji's surprise, anger flashed through his friend's eyes. "And that's pretty damn hypocritical, Basara. I seem to remember risking my own ass to haul yours out of the fire, _twice_ , and it sure as hell didn't have anything to do with your butt-ugly legs." The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had flared up. Booth wearily leaned his elbows on his knees, dropping his face into his hands.

Naji felt a flash of remorse, and dropped the teasing instantly. Whoever this woman was, she obviously meant the world to his friend, and that was good enough for him. "Yeah. You did, Seeley. And not a day has gone by since that I haven't been grateful." He clapped his friend on the shoulder before settling back into his seat and getting comfortable. "All right. Why don't you start from the top? Don't leave anything out."

Booth took a deep breath and launched into the whole story, from the initial phone call Brennan had received, to her failure to return his call, the code sent to his phone, and every step he had taken so far. Basara listened intently, sometimes stopping him to ask questions, until he had heard everything.

By the end, he had already formed two rock-solid theories: the first being that he had a pretty good idea what had happened to Booth's girl, and the second that Booth was not going to want to hear it. He decided to lead into it as gently as he could, but subtlety had never really been his strong point. "Is she sexy?"

Booth just stared at him for a minute. He had really thought this part of the interrogation was over. "What the hell, Naji?"

Naji held his hands up, palms out, asking for leeway. "It's a business question, man. Just answer it. Is she an attractive woman?"

Booth wasn't sure he could honestly answer that one without spilling his guts completely, so he just uncomfortably shrugged and nodded his answer.

Naji regarded him silently for a moment before plunging ahead. "I think you're wasting your time with this whole archaeological angle. Here's my opinion: pretty woman traveling alone in Albania? She got snapped up by the human trafficking rings. It's big business over there."

Booth didn't explode the way Naji had expected. He had learned everything he could about the region before Bones had left, and he was fully aware of the underground sex trade. It had concerned him, but not overly so. Bones might be reckless at times where her safety was concerned, but she was neither weak nor a fool. She would never have fallen prey to something like that. She would have seen one of those guys coming and broken every bone in his body. No, Booth had been far more worried about the political issues and conflicts that had arisen around the dig.

"Okay, then," Booth pressed. "What about the code she sent me? That fit the profile for an abduction like that?" He knew it didn't.

"Could be a fluke, Seel. Random buttons on her phone getting mashed in the struggle, and going through to a pre-programmed number on her phone. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. And if I'm right about who has her, they're already in the process of getting her hooked on their drugs. The next step will be either to auction her off to some sheikh somewhere or force her into prostitution. You've got 96 hours at best from the time she disappeared, or you'll never find her."

Booth shook his head. "She had already missed her deadline for calling me - by several hours - when the message came through. That means the code was sent to me long after she was originally taken. No, my gut is telling me that the answer lies with this dig. And that's where we're going to start."

Naji opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the ringing of Booth's phone, alerting him to an incoming text message from Cam. Booth read the message and immediately began setting up the computer. "Okay, Naji," he challenged as he hit the button that would connect him with the Jeffersonian. "You speak every other damn language. Now why don't you impress me? Let's see if you can speak squint."

ooo . ooo . ooo

For the second time in as many days, Temperance Brennan was slowly pushing her way back toward consciousness from a drug-induced stupor. Before she had even managed to force her eyes open, flashes of memory had begun to return - Tolka binding her, the painful journey in the back of his van, the horrifying realization that she was being sold. At that particular image, she moved to sit up, eyes springing open.

Something yanked on her arm, hard, pulling her back down. With the drugs still maintaining some hold on her, it took a moment for her to realize that it was not one of her captors pulling at her, but rather that her arm was connected to something. With a deep, shuddering breath, she began to examine her surroundings.

She still wore her own clothes, though her jewelry was now missing. The muscles in her shoulders ached terribly, but she was no longer bound or gagged, and for that she was grateful. She discovered that she had been lying on her back, on what appeared to be a filthy bed. What had pulled her back down was the handcuff around one wrist, the other end connected behind her head to the slats of the headboard. Although her current situation was decidedly less painful than her previous one, the ropes she had been bound with had left her wrists raw and bloody. The cuff chafed painfully against those injuries.

Directly beside the bed was a small wooden table, upon which sat a grubby looking pitcher of water. Despite her concerns about its hygiene and safety, she could not remember the last time she had anything to eat or drink. She grabbed the pitcher and drank thirstily, hoping it would help flush her system.

The sound of a low groan from somewhere very close by caused her to jump. It was only then that she noticed she was not alone. On the other side of the bed lay a very young woman. Brennan noted absently that she was in her early 20s, of European descent. She, too, was lying on her back, one wrist cuffed to the headboard of the bed, and appeared to be deeply drugged.

Setting down the pitcher and turning to reach out with her free arm, Brennan shook the girl by the shoulder. "Hello? Can you hear me?" The young woman's eyes were open, staring glassily at the ceiling, but there was no response. Brennan tried again, lightly tapping the sides of the woman's face with her palms. "Can you hear me? Do you speak English?" Almost desperately, she shook her once more by the shoulder, "Do you hear me?"

Realizing she wasn't going to get a response, she released the young woman with a frustrated sigh. It was only then that she noticed her companion's arms. Her eyes widened as she saw the needle marks up and down both arms, evidence of intense drug use.

The sound of a cough, still close by but more muffled, caught her attention. Looking around her, she finally noticed the heavy curtains drawn on either side of the bed. The different groans, coughs and rustlings she could hear were coming from either side of her, some close by and others farther away. With a jolt of horror, she realized that there must be more beds like this one on the other sides of the curtains, and undoubtedly more women confined to them, drugged as her companion was.

"Oh my God," she breathed, the color draining from her face. At the time Edon had made the transaction, she had suspected the purpose for which she was being sold. When she had come to Albania, she wasn't entirely unaware of the existence of the forced prostitution rings. In fact, it was one of the many things Booth had cautioned her about on the way to the airport, though it had clearly been the least of his concern. He had been much more worried about her stepping on the wrong political phalanges, whatever he had meant by that. She had known during those last two days that Booth was researching every possible aspect of her trip. At the time it had both touched and annoyed her, though she had only admitted to the annoyance.

Still, although she was aware of the existence of this underground industry, coming face to face with the scope of something so evil was not something that she was prepared for. Reading or hearing about it was one thing. The young woman beside her - and the ones she could hear on the other sides of the curtains - were very real, as was her own captivity.

She knew something of the M.O. of these rings - knew that they liked to abduct unsuspecting young female travelers, addicting them to drugs before auctioning them off or forcing them into prostitution.

She was also aware of the fact that Booth would not be pursuing this particular angle of investigation - he would be pursuing the archaeologists, including Edon Tolka. But Tolka no longer had her. What if he managed to convince Booth he had nothing to do with her disappearance? She could only hope her message had been deciphered and that Booth could somehow pry out of Tolka the location of the ring to which he had sold her.

Brennan took a deep breath and forced herself to think rationally and focus on the facts. Booth would be looking for her. Although she was confident he would never give up, she had to accept the fact that he may not be able to find her in time. And time was something thing she had in very short supply. Logically, it would not be long before her purchasers would wish to get their money's worth out of her and attempt to use her to make money for them.

She had a decision to make, but it required very little thought. Until that moment came, she would do everything possible to stay alive, giving herself every possibility to escape or giving Booth every possible second to rescue her.

But if he did not arrive in time - if she found herself about to be victimized and demeaned in the worst possible ways - she would attack suddenly, no matter the consequences. It would be preferable to die fighting, rather than to be enslaved and violated, forced to live in a haze of drugs and abuse. She would fight with every ounce of strength, and would either escape or they would kill her. She would see to it. Her only regret in that decision was that Booth might not understand her reasoning and would blame himself, were he ever to find out.

Decision made, she drew another deep, shuddering breath. It was time to take action to help herself and to give Booth more time. The first thing she had to do, she realized, was to keep her mind clear. She would have to find a way to prevent herself from being drugged any further, but she had no idea how she was going to go about it.

Suddenly, she heard the distant sound of footsteps. She froze, straining her ears to hear every sound. After a few moments, she detected a pattern to the sounds - footsteps, a pause, more steps, and a curtain being drawn back and forth. The pattern continued, growing closer each time, and she came to the conclusion that someone was making rounds, visiting each bed. This must be the place where they addicted their newest acquisitions to drugs, making them compliant and weakening their resolve.

Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited, unsure what to do. Would the man have a key that could free her from the cuffs? Should she fight now for her freedom, weakened and restrained as she was? Or should she wait to see what happened and give Booth more time? Her mind filled with indecision, she waited.

The curtain was drawn suddenly back, and a man entered. He carried two buckets, and immediately retrieved a syringe from one of them. Almost involuntarily, Brennan shrunk backwards away from him as she watched. Ignoring her, he moved first to her companion. He seemed prepared to inject the young woman; but after roughly slapping at her face a few times and studying the girl's glassy eyes for a moment, he seemed satisfied that there was no need to further dose her. He abruptly left her side and rounded the bed towards Brennan.

Every instinct she had pled with her to attack the man. The muscles in her legs jumped with the desire to kick, even as her free hand clenched into a fist, so tightly that it caused her arm to shake. She could not. She knew that no matter what the outcome, if she chose to fight at that moment it could be the end of her if the man did not have the key to the cuffs. She had made a promise to herself - and, in her mind, to Booth - that she would do what was necessary to stay alive, at least until she could no longer afford to do so.

Just before the man jabbed the needle into her arm, Brennan willed herself to remember what she had observed. If she were conscious and aware the next time the man made his rounds, she was quite certain that she could simulate the unresponsiveness she had seen in the young woman, perhaps avoiding further injections. If she could avoid enough doses, perhaps she could fight the pull of becoming reliant on the drugs. And just maybe she could keep her mind clear enough to capitalize on any opportunity that might present itself.

Her last conscious thought, before once again spiraling into the drug-induced haze, was a plea to her partner. _'Please, Booth…please hurry.'_

ooo . ooo . ooo

Within moments of establishing a video connection with the Jeffersonian, five faces appeared on Booth's computer screen, one after the other. They all crowded nervously around each other, noticeably anxious to speak with him. In the past, Booth had sometimes been skeptical of the need for so much technology when a simple phone call could convey the same information. This time he found himself grateful for the connection. It was a sort of relief to reconnect visually with this eclectic group, seeing the same tension and worry that he knew to be on his own face mirrored in theirs. There was something to be said for being united in a common purpose, and he wondered absently when he had first begun to consider them his friends.

It was Booth who spoke first. "Cam, tell me what you've got for me. Has Zack deciphered the message?"

Her tight expression told Booth even before she spoke that the news was not going to be good. "So far we don't have much to tell you, Booth. Zack has a list of alpha-numeric possibilities as long as his arm, but none of them make any sense - they're all just strings of gibberish."

"That is essentially correct," Zack broke in over Cam, looking in her direction as he continued, "though I must disagree that a list of potential solutions would in any way correspond to the length of a human arm."

Turning back to face the monitor, Zack continued. "I've eliminated the possibility that the code is an equation or formula. The most likely possibility is a simple alpha-numeric code, but as Dr. Saroyan stated, the possible solutions do not conform to any immediately recognizable pattern. I am attempting to identify the most plausible solutions by running a computer comparison against common names and locations related to the region from which Dr. Brennan disappeared. But without a frame of reference…"

He hesitated, and Booth grimly completed the thought for him. "You might already have the answer right in front of you and not know it."

Zack nodded once. "Precisely."

Even through the video connection, Booth's escalating tension was a force that the team at the Jeffersonian could almost feel physically. "Does _anybody_ have anything useful," Booth inquired, more sharply than he had intended.

Angela was the next to speak up. "Booth, I've compiled all the information you asked for, and Cam is going to send you a copy through the computer. None of the dig team or confirmation team members have made any large bank deposits, and all of the information Dr. Benjamin sent appears to be in order. Cam and I are going over the backgrounds with a fine tooth comb, but nothing is jumping out at either of us."

Her voice had held steady, but it wavered on her next words. "Booth…are you…" Rethinking the question she was about to ask, she started over. "Booth, we'll find her. _You'll_ find her. We've got to."

Unable to respond to that, Booth chose instead to continue giving instructions, his voice thick with restrained emotion. "Angela, you and Cam keep going over everything. Check and recheck it all, including the bank accounts. I want you to go back over Dr. Benjamin. If he's involved, we can't trust that he sent complete information. He could have left somebody out. Start over and make sure you have information on every single member of those teams."

Angela agreed, fighting back tears, as Sweets jumped in next.

"Booth, I took a look at some of those videotapes and psych evaluations that Dr. Benjamin sent to Dr. Saroyan, like you asked, but it's a ton of stuff to sort through. I've made my way through the confirmation team, and I'm starting on the dig team. In my opinion, none of the members of the confirmation team display any psychological markers that would cause concern. Just by process of elimination based on that, you might want to start your interrogations with the dig team."

Booth gave a crisp nod of his head. "Thanks, Sweets. Let me know what else you find out."

Sweets had tilted his head to one side, a look of concern on his face. "Agent Booth, how are you holding up?"

Off to the side where he had chosen to wait unnoticed, Naji Basara was closely observing the interaction between Booth and the team at the Jeffersonian. The five people on the other end of that computer connection were hanging on Booth's every word, clearly ready to do anything he asked. Their concern for Dr. Brennan was written all over their faces, but it was mingled heavily with concern and respect for Seeley Booth. Though many years had passed since Naji had last seen his old friend, it was evident that nothing about him had really changed - he still inspired the type of loyalty and confidence in those around him that Naji remembered from years past.

Naji continued to listen intently as the next man chimed in - a short, red-headed man with intensely blue eyes.

"Hey, Booth, you're gonna want to hear this," Hodgins began. "I was partially able to track her cell phone, but what I found is a little…weird."

That statement gained Booth's full attention. "I first located the signal bouncing off a tower in Tirana, which made sense, but this is where it starts to get interesting. A few hours later, I got a hit on the signal from a tower near the city of Vlore, which is near the coast, about 100 kilometers Southwest of Tirana. That's roughly 62 miles if you take a straight line. But I checked into road condition and availability, and it's definitely not a straight shot by land. It'd take almost three hours to drive it."

Booth was now gripping the edges of the table where the computer rested, his knuckles turning white. "So you're saying they took her somewhere else. She's in Vlore now?"

Hodgins shook his head. "Well, her phone _was,_ but that's the weird part. I managed to pick up a signal one other time, about an hour and a half later. It was difficult to pinpoint, but the closest city appears to be called Lushnje - almost dead center between Tirana and Vlore. It's almost like her phone made it to Vlore and then immediately started back for Tirana. After that, the signal disappeared. I'll keep trying, but after this many hours it would be reasonable to assume the phone battery is dead."

Booth slammed his hands on the table in frustration, causing the computer to bounce. "Damnit!" Needing an outlet for his frustration, he pointed an accusing finger toward the screen. "Why the _hell_ didn't you call me when you first tracked her signal? I thought I was clear that everything would go through me!"

Cam quickly and quietly diffused the situation. "Booth, that was my call." Before Booth could turn his anger toward her, she carried on without giving him a chance to speak. "You didn't contact us for several hours, so I figured it was a safe bet that you had decided to sleep so you'd be ready to go when you landed. There was nothing you could do right then even if we called and woke you. I planned to contact you well before you could land in Tirana."

Hodgins still seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to continue. Finally, after exchanging a glance with Angela, he cleared his throat. "Uh, Booth, there's something else you should know about the city of Vlore."

Booth met Hodgins' eyes through the screen, indicating for him to continue. Hodgins did so, albeit hesitantly. "Are you aware of the underground prostitution rings operating in Albania?"

Booth nodded reluctantly, carefully avoiding Naji's eyes. He already knew his opinion on the subject.

Hodgins went on. "The city of Vlore is what you might call the hot spot for that type of activity. There are a few different rings operating from there. Booth, if there's even a possibility she was taken to Vlore, that might be something you want to check out."

Booth shot a challenging glare in Naji's direction, practically daring his friend to have the audacity to express anything close to "I told you so." He quickly turned his eyes back to the screen and opened his mouth to speak, but Angela had not missed the nonverbal communication.

"Booth, is there someone with you?"

Booth chose not to reply, so Naji did so for him, walking over to stand by Booth. He made his presence known with a broad, friendly smile and a wave. "Aloha. The squints, I presume. Seeley told me all about you guys when he filled me in on your friend."

Angela, as usual, was first to speak. "Whoa…and you are?"

Zack chimed in right behind her, replying in kind to Naji's greeting. "Aloha." He turned slightly toward Hodgins and spoke out of the side of his mouth. "I don't think he is actually Hawaiian."

Naji just grinned. "Just think of me as a friend. I'm one of the good guys..." His smile grew even broader and mildly flirtatious as he regarded Cam and Angela. "At least most of the time."

Hodgins crossed his arms at that, narrowing his eyes. "I don't suppose you have a name, _friend_?"

At that point, Cam stepped in. "Good enough for me. Whoever you are, I'm glad Booth has someone there to help. We're all on the same side here," she said, directing her last words in Hodgins' direction.

She turned her head back toward the screen. "Booth, there's just one more thing. Dr. Benjamin has arranged to have the entire dig and confirmation teams made available to you at his office for you to question as soon as you arrive. I assume you'll be landing soon?"

"We're about an hour out."

"Good," Cam replied. "I'll tell him to have them waiting. We'll keep working on our end." She hit the button to end the videoconference so he wouldn't have to, hoping against hope that Dr. Brennan and Booth would both come through this nightmare intact.

ooo . ooo . ooo

After Cam disconnected the videoconference, Booth sat staring at the blank screen for another few moments, lost in thought. A few moments later, Naji felt compelled to break the silence. If truth were told, he was quickly becoming worried about his friend. "So what's the game plan?"

Booth considered for a moment before replying. "First I want to check out the hotel she was staying at and the surrounding areas - see if anything was missed by the local cops."

"Okay," Naji replied, agreeably enough, sensitive to how tightly wound his friend was at that moment. "But what about the archaeologists? It sounds like they'll be ready and waiting."

Booth's tone was short as he replied. "Good. Let them wait a little while. If the bastard who took her is one of them, give him time to get good and damn nervous."

"Makes sense." Naji decided to press his luck. "And the prostitution ring angle?"

Even if Naji had not known Seeley Booth for many years, it would have been impossible not to notice his entire body go tense, his fists clenching. He spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "First things first. Just…just first things first."

There were some things Naji needed to know, but he realized he was going to have to proceed very carefully to get to them. He considered his next question thoroughly before asking it. "Seeley…that particular angle…you've deflected every time the subject comes up. Is there some good reason that you refuse to even consider the possibility?"

Naji knew he had hit the target when Booth noticeably flinched. Booth's reply came a moment later, and it was so quiet Naji wasn't sure he had even heard it. "Yes."

Having come too far to go back now, Naji once again pressed on, more seriously than his friend had ever heard him. "Care to share it? Because you need to tell me why." Being met with dead silence, he slapped his palms on his lap in frustration. "I'm here to help you get her back, Seeley. But if I'm going to do that right, I need to know why you refuse to follow a valid path of inquiry."

Naji's somber tone, so opposite his normal manner, was enough to get through to his old friend and loosen his tongue. "Because, Naji," Booth answered, his voice still low. "If it is - if it is _that_ …"

Naji waited wordlessly, silently urging Booth to complete his thought.

He did so, his voice rough. "It just _can't_ be that, Naji. If it's a simple kidnapping, or if someone's out to stop her from her work, then that gives me a chance. But if it's the other…if it's the other then there's no chance. You said 96 hours from the time they get her before they force her to…"

Booth closed his eyes before continuing, unable to finish that sentence. "She'll never even let it get that far. I _know_ her. If there's any part of her still conscious and aware, she won't let it come to that. She'll fight. She'll fight, and they'll kill her, and God help me, Noj, I'm almost glad of that, because the thought of…"

The sudden stream of words stopped as rapidly as it had begun. When Booth spoke again, the emotion in his voice was so raw that Naji felt almost like an intruder on some private moment, as though he should turn away. "That's why I can't go there, Naji. Because I can't decide which one is worse."

Long, uncomfortable moments passed, neither man sure what to say.

Finally, Naji asked the only question that seemed reasonable - only it didn't come out sounding very much like a question. "You're in love with her."

Booth pushed back abruptly from the table in sudden anger, turning his back on Naji in the process and putting as much distance as possible between them. "What the hell difference does it make?"

Naji retorted incredulously, flinging Booth's own taunt from earlier in the day back at him. "Is _that_ a rhetorical question?"

At Booth's answering glare, Naji decided to go for broke, the tone of his voice raising in frustration. "Look, Seeley, I said I'd help you and that's what I'm here to do - in for a penny, in for a pound, whatever it takes. I'll storm the ridge right along with you. But if I'm gonna be standing right beside you getting my ass shot off along with you, I need to know everything - this included. 'Cause you damn well know that it makes a difference how this thing is gonna go down!"

There was still no verbal reply from Booth, but this time the silence spoke volumes, answering every question Naji needed answered.

"Okay, then," Naji finally said, his voice returning to normal. Glancing out the window, he noticed that the pilot had already begun decreasing altitude, preparing to land. "Let's go get her back."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Immediately upon landing and securing the vehicle Dr. Benjamin had arranged for them, Booth and Naji made their way to the hotel where Brennan was to have stayed.

Thanks to a hasty phone call requesting his presence, they were met there by Dr. Benjamin. Despite Booth's immediate distaste for the man - based purely on the fact that this man was responsible for involving Bones in this nightmare in the first place - he had to agree with Cam's assessment that Dr. Benjamin was almost certainly not involved. The short, pudgy man with round-rimmed glasses was apologetic and almost overly accommodating, and even Booth could begrudgingly see that there was not a malicious bone in his body.

Dr. Benjamin quickly let Booth and Naji into Brennan's room. No more than one step inside the door, Booth was hit with the sudden realization that this room was where Bones had been the last time he had spoken with her - only hours or maybe even minutes before she had been taken. That thought was followed immediately by the memory of how quickly he had disconnected that call to get back to a damned pointless _meeting_ , and he drew in a sharp breath as he felt the familiar tide of guilt wash over him. He felt Naji's eyes watching him at his sudden intake of breath, but still had to resist the urge to put his fist through the wall.

After a moment, Booth recovered his composure, reminding himself that his violent impulses weren't going to do her any good - at least not until he located the bastards responsible for her disappearance.

Drawing another, more steady breath this time, Booth scanned the room with a trained eye. Her suitcase and equipment bags were placed neatly on the extra bed in the two-bed hotel room, still locked - obviously she had never had time to open them. The second bed was still neatly made. Those facts, combined with the absence of any clothing or jewelry left in the room, told Booth that when she was taken she must have still been dressed the same as when he last saw her, right down to the shoes. There were no signs of a struggle, and Dr. Benjamin relayed the information that the door had been locked when he had first arrived and discovered that she was missing.

Further scanning the room, Booth found no sign of her cell phone, but he did notice a key card for the room resting on the small dresser. A quick call to the front desk by Naji confirmed that she had indeed been given two keys. With gritted teeth, Booth quickly arrived at the conclusion that she must have left the room voluntarily, taking only her cell phone and the other room key. Despite the fact that this revelation hardly came as a surprise - this was _Bones_ after all, and he had suspected as much - he still felt a brief surge of anger at her for being so reckless. Why the _hell_ would she go out at night by herself in another country, after telling him she was in her room for the night?

Booth wearily passed a hand over his face, then dropped it quickly and rested both hands low on his hips as he shook his head. A short bark of entirely humorless laughter escaped his lips, and he was well aware that Naji was probably beginning to question his sanity. And well he should, Booth realized, having just arrived at his own conclusion that he _was_ , in fact, completely insane; because as much as he just wanted to shake her sometimes, and as tempting as it was just to handcuff her to him and keep her out of trouble, he still would never want to change anything about her, least of all the independence that so defined her. Nonetheless, they were going to have one very _long_ and serious conversation about her safety when he got her back, even if he had to go the handcuffing route to achieve that goal.

He abruptly turned and strode for the door with a gruff, "There's nothing here," leaving Naji and Dr. Benjamin to follow him. Without even waiting to see if they would follow, he left the room and briskly made his way to the stairwell, intent on checking out the streets immediately surrounding the hotel. Even taking the steps two at a time, Naji had a difficult time catching up to his friend - the friend that he was becoming increasingly concerned for.

Dr. Benjamin didn't even try to keep up with them, content to take the elevator and meet them on the bottom floor. He needed a break from the intensity of the tall, dark-haired man who seemed ready to snap at any moment. By the time he reached the lobby and made his way onto the street, he could see Naji and Booth about a block up the street. They were crouched down, intently studying something on the ground by the edge of another building.

Breathless by the time he reached them, Dr. Benjamin was just in time to hear what Naji was saying to Booth.

"Maybe you were right, Booth. If it was the underground se-…if it was what I thought it was, those bastards are pros. Whoever took your girl is definitely not a pro."

Booth grunted his agreement. "Obviously neither are the local cops." Finally acknowledging Dr. Benjamin's presence, he turned on him with an angry, "You called the police, right? How the hell did they miss a fucking _syringe_ in the middle of the sidewalk 50 feet from the place she was last seen?"

To his relief, Dr. Benjamin was spared having to answer when Naji, who had made his way a few yards further up the street, suddenly called out. "Hey, Seeley! You're gonna want to see this, too."

Booth quickly jogged over to see what his friend had found.

Naji held up the rag that he had found caught on the edge of the stair railing at the entrance to the next building. "It must have blown over here." Holding it up to his nose, his voice was grim as he continued. "Chloroform - just a faint odor now, but I'd put money on it."

As Naji carefully collected both pieces of evidence, Booth once again turned to Dr. Benjamin, snapping out orders in a tone that the terrified man didn't dare argue with. "I want both of these things sent to the closest decent crime lab, yesterday. I want them both analyzed for particulates, and have any drugs identified. I want DNA run on the syringe. Have all information and results sent to the Jeffersonian in Washington, D.C., care of Dr. Camille Saroyan. They'll be able to confirm that the DNA on the syringe belongs to Dr. Brennan. I need to know what she was given."

Dr. Benjamin stammered out a reply, already reaching for his phone to begin making arrangements.

Booth turned, looking back up the street toward her hotel. He had even more questions now than answers. On the one hand, he was relieved. Naji was correct in his assessment that pros would never leave behind evidence, discrediting the theory that she had been kidnapped by an organized prostitution ring. On the other hand, he felt as though he had disturbingly too little to work with. If it was a kidnapping, why had there been no demands from the kidnapper? He desperately needed to know what the code sent to his phone had meant.

The moment Dr. Benjamin disconnected the call, Booth was back at his side, hustling him toward his vehicle with a tight grip on his arm. "Let's go have a chat with the archaeologists."

ooo . ooo . ooo

Temperance Brennan lay as still as possible, barely moving a muscle. She had now been conscious and aware for quite some time, the last dose of the drugs having finally released its hold on her. Already she could feel her traitorous body beginning to desire another dose of the drug, her mind fighting a fierce battle for control against the seductive pull of growing addiction.

The young woman cuffed to the other side of the bed also now seemed to be more aware; but she was groaning miserably as her body desperately sought another hit of the drugs that she was now enslaved to. Brennan deduced that quite some time must have passed since the man with the bucket of syringes had last visited.

Now, however, rapidly approaching footsteps were the cause of Brennan's motionless state. She recalled the drugged stupor she had observed earlier in the young woman, and how the man had neglected to further inject her as a result. Desperate to avoid being injected again, Brennan now adopted a similar demeanor, staring glassily at the ceiling and willing herself not to respond to anything her captors would do.

To her surprise, the footsteps seemed this time to be coming directly towards her in a straight line, rather than following the earlier pattern of stopping at other beds. When she heard the curtain being drawn back, she forced herself to remain motionless and keep her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

A few moments of silence passed during which she could sense that someone was leaning over her companion, no doubt injecting her once again. Brennan had expected for the person to next approach her, slapping at her and examining her eyes until they were satisfied she remained drugged.

It took a few moments for her to realize that was not what had happened. Instead, she heard the clink of metal, followed by the feeling of the bed shifting as her companion was dragged out of it. Daring to sneak a glance to see what was happening, she saw that a man - not the same one as before - had released her companion from the handcuffs and hauled her unsteadily to her feet.

Tears of frustration pricked at Brennan's eyes. This man had _keys,_ and she hadn't noticed until too late. She wanted to scream at the man to let the young woman go, but knew that doing so would only result in a further dose of the mind numbing drugs. The cuff connecting her to the bed kept her from being able to fight to defend the girl. Had she noticed even moments before what was going on, she would have fought the man with every ounce of strength she had, in an effort to get the keys and free herself and her companion. But she had realized what was happening too late, and now he was out of reach. He never even glanced in her direction as he roughly helped the young woman stagger from the room in a daze, drawing back the curtain and leaving Brennan terrifyingly alone.

Breathing deeply, Brennan processed the fact that her captors had apparently succeeded in their goal of addicting her bedmate to their drugs, and the only conclusion was that they now intended to either sell her or force her into prostitution. The tears in her eyes began to fall as she realized that there was nothing she could do to help the young woman, and that she would soon face a similar fate if she could not find a way to avoid the drugs and make her own escape.

With renewed resolve, Brennan determined once again that she would not fall victim to this. She now knew what to expect when they believed her addiction to be complete, and she would find a way to stop it. She rose up on her elbow, working around the cuff to bring herself to a sitting position. Her eyes lit on the small table beside the bed. At some time during her drug-induced unawareness, someone had apparently refilled the water pitcher she had drunk from earlier. She also found a small bowl of cold soup and a piece of bread, both of which seemed to have been sitting out for quite some time. Fighting her revulsion, she forced herself to choke down the disgusting fare, with the realization that she had to keep her strength up if she had any hope of fighting.

She drank most of the contents of the pitcher, then took a deep breath as she considered her next act. Without giving herself time to think better of it, she shielded her eyes as best she could with her cuffed arm and used the free one to smash the heavy glass pitcher down against the table with all of her might. It broke into several large pieces and hundreds of smaller ones. Carefully, straining against the cuff, she managed to reach to the ground with her free arm and pick up the two largest, sharpest shards of glass. One she placed beneath the thin pillow her head rested on. The other she placed carefully just beneath her leg, where her free hand would have easy access to it.

When the man with the keys came to take Temperance Brennan, he was going to be in for a surprise.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Back in Tirana, Booth was becoming increasingly frustrated as he interrogated the dig team and confirmation team archaeologists, along with Dr. Benjamin's staff. Almost all of them had airtight alibis for the entire night of the disappearance. Of the three who didn't - including the initial discoverer, Edon Tolka - none of them particularly stood out. One of them, a member of the confirmation team, seemed particularly nervous and terrified of Booth; but that one barely weighed 100 pounds, incapable of moving even a drugged Brennan without a lot of help.

Under Naji's watchful eye and sometimes restraining hand, Booth had alternately interrogated and threatened the other two, who happened to be Edon Tolka and the representative who had met Brennan at the airport. The representative, while nervous, maintained his innocence and clearly had no motive. He was simply a staff member of Dr. Benjamin's, sent to run the errand of escorting Dr. Brennan to her room. Edon Tolka, who Booth believed would have motive as the discoverer of the archaeological remains, never cracked once in the face of all of Booth's interrogation. He seemed confident and professional, even expressing his firm desire for Dr. Brennan to be found in time to make the confirmation on his find. His wishes in that regard seemed to discount the possibility of his having a motive.

Several hours later, at Naji's insistence, Booth finally acknowledged that he had no reason to hold any of the men. He allowed them to go - but not before pushing back the black leather jacket he wore over his shoulder holster, the threat clearly implied as he allowed them a clear view of his guns on their way out.

Naji knew there was only one lead left. He wasn't looking forward to the next conversation he knew he had to have with his friend, but was ultimately spared having to make the suggestion. He turned to see Booth standing over the table, leaning over with his hands braced wide on the tabletop. Every muscle in his body was tense, and his eyes glittered dangerously.

"All right, goddamnit, Naji, you win. We're going to Vlore."

Booth didn't stop to wait for a response as he stalked out of the room toward the car to start the 3-hour drive to the city of Vlore - home of the bulk of the Albanian sex trade, and the second-to-last place Hodgins had tracked his partner's cell phone.

ooo . ooo . ooo

As footsteps once again approached her bed, this time following the pattern of someone making their rounds of the beds again, Brennan wondered why she felt so much more terrified now that she was alone. It was irrational to think that the young woman who had shared the bed could have helped her in any way. And yet the girl's presence had been a comfort in some ways. The two hours since she had been taken away had been the worst yet.

Her free hand rested just beside her leg, the sharp fragment of glass she had placed there cutting slightly into her leg as she maintained contact with it. Once again, she adopted the drugged demeanor, hopeful to avoid another injection. She attempted to ignore the fact that some part of her was desperate for another shot of the drugs - thinking about her own very real risk of addiction was a path she did not currently wish to pursue.

When the curtain finally drew back, she was ready. Eyes glued to the ceiling, mouth open and completely still, she resisted the urge to draw back when hot, putrid breath assaulted her senses as the man leaned over her. She felt the sharp sting of slaps to her cheeks, and forced herself not to respond in any way. The man continued to lean over her, and she fought the urge to vomit when he put his hands on her face, using his fingers to push her eyes more widely open as he studied them. The desire to drive the shard of glass into the man's stomach was overwhelming, but this was not the man who held the keys that could free her. She would only get one chance to fight.

To her relief, her performance seemed to have convinced the man that she remained in a drugged daze. He turned and left as quickly as he had come.

Her relief was all too short, however, as it was only a few minutes later that she once again heard footsteps approaching, this time taking a direct route rather than stopping at other beds. All too soon, she heard the curtain being drawn back once again.

Not daring to look for fear of her conscious state being discovered, she felt rather than saw that the other side of the bed had again become occupied. The clink of metal told her that the new occupant of the bed was now cuffed into place just as she was.

When the footsteps receded, Brennan waited a moment before turning to see her new companion. What she saw both surprised and horrified her. It was the same girl as before, only she no longer wore the sweater and jeans she had worn previously. Her filthy hair had been washed and fixed, and makeup had been applied. She now wore revealing lingerie and a sheer gauzy robe, and glittery high heeled shoes. The girl was conscious, but in an obvious daze from the drugs. It was doubtful that she even knew what was happening to her.

Brennan, on the other hand, had begun to form a very clear picture of what was going on, and it chilled her to the bone. She was convinced that the girl had been prepared for something - something that would be happening very soon. She discovered that she was correct in her assumptions when she awoke from a fitful sleep - only a few hours later - to see that the girl was once again being led from the room, dazedly staggering in her heels. This time, she didn't come back. This time, Brennan was certain, the girl had been taken away for the last time, ready to be displayed for sale in this bizarre nightmare. And it was only a matter of time before her captors would come, intent on doing the same to her.

ooo . ooo . ooo

In Tirana, a very cheerful and smug Edon Tolka returned to his house. Tricking the men who were searching for the American doctor had been all too easy, and he patted himself on the back for his own genius. He had all but begged them to find her so she could complete her work - and they had bought into his story entirely. Well, at least one of them had. The other...

He was almost certain that one of the men who had interrogated him was the same man he had heard on the voicemail from the anthropologist's phone. Although he had already tricked the man and expected no further trouble, he wanted to hear the message again to be sure. His day was going so well that it didn't even bother him when he discovered that the battery had died. That was simple enough - now that he was a rich man, he would simply buy himself a charger that would be compatible with it. It would be nice to have a souvenir of his success, anyway. Of course, he had not yet paid off his debts, but he would be doing that very soon - just as soon as he could make his next sale.

Before proceeding upstairs to his bedroom to check on his latest acquisition, he put back on the very expensive suit he had purchased with a portion of the money he made from the sale of the American doctor. Of course, he hadn't been able to wear it to the NATO office for his interrogation - that might have raised suspicion - but he could certainly wear it now. That expensive suit had allowed him to impress the beautiful young Italian woman he had met outside the airport; once he had lured her out of view behind his van, it had been easy enough to drug her with the chloroform and throw her in the back.

He wasn't even going to have to drive to Vlore this time. With the police searching for the anthropologist, it would have been too risky to make that particular sale in Tirana - the trip to Vlore had been necessary. But his newfound connections had led him to a nice, sophisticated ring working right out of Tirana, with the promise that his spotter's fee would be transferred directly to his bank account upon delivery. Yes, he was definitely moving up in the world.

Feeling very important, he made his way upstairs to where the terrified girl lay bound, wishing that the phone were working so he could take some pictures of this one too. ' _No matter_ ,' he thought, as he began dragging her to the van, ready to go make his second sale. _'She's not going anywhere. She can wait in the van while I buy a charger on the way there, then I can take all the pictures I want.'_

And, just to be sure there was no one else coming after him, he was going to listen to that message one more time…

ooo . ooo . ooo

Much of the three-hour car ride to Vlore passed in a tense silence for Booth and Naji. After quickly returning to the jet to gather all of their supplies, Booth had taken the wheel - and he seemed determined to shave as many minutes as possible off of their drive time. Had Naji been honest, he would have had to admit that _that_ fact was at least partially responsible for the uncomfortable silence that hung heavily in the air between them. Not many things scared Naji Basara, but he was a little unsure which was more disturbing to him at that point - Booth's mood or his driving. Many of the roads were not in the best of condition, and they were bouncing along them at breakneck speed.

Booth, on the other hand, seemed almost unaware of Naji's presence. His hands alternately clenched and flexed on the steering wheel, and the tightness in his entire frame was easily visible to the eye. His eyes bored through the windshield straight ahead of him, and the electricity crackling in them seemed almost tangible.

The very fact that he was even making this drive to Vlore seemed almost like an admission that he had given up. He had been desperate to find any other explanation for Bones' disappearance; the fact that he had not done so haunted him, buffeting him with feelings of guilt that he had failed her. In addition, Naji's earlier warnings were still ringing in his ears: a 96 hour window to find her, he had said. If Bones had indeed been taken by a prostitution ring, he had already wasted so much of that precious time - if she was even still alive, which was something he had to consider.

His fists clenched once more around the steering wheel as he fought for control in his own mind. Two hours before, he had not even allowed himself to consider the possibility. Now, as he sped along toward his own personal concept of hell, he knew he had to mentally prepare himself for what he might find. But even as he tried to do so, the thought of finding Bones in a drugged condition - that incredible mind of hers dulled beyond recognition and desperate for just one more high - was almost more than he could bear.

But there was still something worse. Horrifying as that thought might be, it paled in comparison to the knowledge of what the bastards planned to force her to do. There was absolutely no way that he could mentally prepare himself for that - not considering what the mere thought of it did to him. The boiling rage that had been growing in his belly now began to take control, like nothing he had ever experienced; he accepted without question that if even one man had touched her before he could find her, he would kill every last one involved - with his bare hands. And though it should have given him pause, he did not even flinch when he realized that the thought of doing so was the only thing that brought him comfort.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Four hours later, in Vlore, Booth sat agitatedly in the car outside a seedy bar, uncomfortably alone with his imagination. As he waited impatiently for Naji to return, Booth wondered again if he should have allowed himself to be talked out of going in.

By the time they had arrived in Vlore, Naji had formed an idea on how to proceed, and he had almost worked up the nerve to bring it up. The sun had begun to set by the time they arrived, and they had easily found the red-light district of town. Though he didn't say a word, Naji had seen the look on Booth's face as they drove past the prostitutes, who waved and beckoned toward them. The track marks up and down their arms were visible even by the darkness of night. Naji had watched as Booth surreptitiously studied each of them as they passed, his expression unreadable.

He knew Booth had certainly not expected to find Brennan among them - from what Booth had told him, he knew enough to know that she would never have been broken so quickly, if at all. In fact, he agreed with Booth's assessment that she would probably die first, trying to escape. And, like Booth, he wasn't really sure which would be worse. Naji had never personally admitted to ever being in love - had no desire to, and was quite happy with the life of a bachelor. Even so, he had no small amount of sympathy for what his friend was going through; he did know what it was like to care for someone, and could imagine that if he ever _were_ to be in love, the idea of his girl being sold against her will to other men would probably be enough to make him, at the very least, dangerously unhinged.

And so Naji had made his suggestion, one designed to protect his friend from himself, at least for as long as possible. Booth had seen right through it, of course, but Naji could spout logical, rational reasons in a manner that even the squints might have envied. After all, Naji had reasoned, Booth didn't speak Albanian, and Naji did; not to mention that Booth's obvious tension could have aroused suspicion and tipped their hand.

And so, in the end, they had agreed to a plan. Naji would hit the local nightlife scene, posing as a traveling businessman looking to have a good time and willing to pay handsomely for it. It wouldn't be the first time in his line of work that he had used such tactics, and he felt confident that he could gather at least enough information to give them a starting point.

Just when Booth had had enough of sitting back doing nothing, he saw Naji emerging from the bar he had disappeared into an hour earlier. He spotted Booth in the car parked a block down the street, and quickly jogged over and jumped in.

One look at Booth's face told him that starting with the good news was unquestionably the way to go. "Okay, it's not much, but it's a place to start. I flashed around a few bucks and let it be known I was looking for a little love for hire. Bunch of tightlipped bastards in there, but I got a couple of locations we could start."

As he had been speaking, he had already signaled to Booth which direction he should start driving, and Booth had quickly done so. Booth noticed the fact that Naji was now hesitating, and he was in no mood for it.

"And?" Booth's impatience was evident in the one word. "What aren't you telling me?"

Naji sighed. "Okay, just hear me out." He glanced at his friend's face before reluctantly deciding to continue, definitely against his better judgment. "Addicting the girls to drugs is just the first step - it makes 'em pliant, easily controlled."

Booth had tensed at that, but just nodded for Naji to continue.

Naji thought to himself that the fact Booth hadn't shot him yet was a good sign, and probably the best he could hope for at the moment. He only hoped his luck would hold. "Before they can put them on the streets, they have to break them…and break them in. The places I was able to learn about are the places where they do just that."

Again, he hesitated, truly hating to have to tell his friend this.

"Seeley, it's some kinda damn warehouse where men line up at the door and buy a ticket. In return, they get a number. The girls they're trying to break into prostitution are locked to beds in numbered, curtained off areas - still all drugged up - and the guys just find the right number. When they're done, they return the number, and the next guy in line…"

Naji trailed off, but the fury on his friend's face was enough to propel his tongue into action again, sympathy filling his quiet tone. "Seel, it's not the only M.O. they use, but I thought this would be the best place to start - the timeframe fits. She would already be getting addicted to the drugs, and…"

Booth's fist connecting with the dashboard - hard - was what caused Naji's words to trail off that time. Booth was now too busy glaring at him to even look at the road, but Naji knew he had to tell his friend everything.

"I just don't want you to get your hopes up. We may not find her there." He cringed at his own words, understanding just exactly how ludicrous that had sounded. "What I mean is, Seeley, that there are tons of places just like it. This is just the first one. And from what you've told me, your girl's a beautiful, classy American doctor. Chances are they're holding her back for sale - it's what they'd do with the cream of the crop. If it's that, then there's a good chance nobody's put a finger on her yet. But those types of deals - the auctions and shit - those are gonna be invitation only. It's definitely one of those things that you can only find if you already know where it is. I'm pretty sure I could find us a way in, but you would just have to trust me on how."

Booth didn't reply. Naji had been signaling directions to him as they had been talking, and they were now coming to a stop a couple of blocks away from what was obviously the location Naji had described. A short line of men waiting at the door was readily apparent, and Booth was already reaching for the door handle. As he stepped out, checking his concealed weapons and making sure he was prepared, Naji had already made his way around the car. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I don't suppose I could talk you into waiting in the car again, huh?"

Booth's mouth was set in a grim line. "Like hell."

To Be Continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

To Naji's profound relief, Booth had not chosen to blast his way through the doors. He and Naji had simply taken their place in line, each handing the man at the door a wad of cash in exchange for a number.

What greeted them inside was a sight that both men - Booth particularly - would have dearly loved to forget. A small pathway in the center of the room was flanked on either side by long rows of curtains, each with a number on it. Just as Naji had said, it was clear that they were to find the curtain that matched their ticket number.

As though by unspoken agreement, Naji took one side of the path and Booth took the other, pushing curtains aside and peering in. The sight was sickening - in each room was a young woman on a filthy mattress, obviously drugged and willing to do whatever was necessary for the next hit; in most of those rooms were men in various states of undress, getting what they had paid for.

Like a man possessed, Booth doubled his speed down the path, pushing aside curtains and peering in. He froze in place and his heart seemed to stop when he pushed open the last curtain. The woman's face was obscured by the back of the man on top of her, but he caught a glimpse of long auburn hair spread out on the bed.

Auburn hair meant one thing and one thing only to Booth - _Bones._ Without even thinking, he just reacted, reaching out to grab the man by the back of the jacket he still wore. Booth growled furiously as he viciously hauled him off of the woman; in a heartbeat, he had the man flat on his back, kneeling over him and raining brutal punches on his face, ribs - everywhere he could reach.

Naji had heard the commotion and had begun making his way toward it immediately, gun already drawn. When he pushed aside the curtain and entered, he first saw the unconscious man lying on the ground, face bloodied and mangled. Booth knelt over the body of a dazed woman, sitting back on his heels, his expression unreadable.

Already, Naji could hear the sounds of footsteps rapidly coming in their direction, and he knew that their cover was blown. "Is that her?" he asked Booth urgently.

Booth's voice came out a strangled whisper. "No."

The sounds of men shouting as they searched for the cause of the commotion was all it took to snap Booth back into action. His gun found its way into his hand instantly. "Get her," he ordered Naji, gesturing with his gun toward the young woman. Not waiting for a reply, Booth moved to stand between them and the thin curtain that was the only thing shielding them from view.

Even as he holstered his gun and stooped to obey, Naji argued against the seeming insanity of it. "Whoa, Seeley, mind telling me why? Thought you said this was the wrong girl."

Booth deflected, preparing himself as the voices drew closer. "Just bring her."

There was not another chance for Naji to argue. The curtain began to move at that exact moment as one of their pursuers reached out to pull it back. He was swiftly rewarded with a hard blow to the face from the butt end of Booth's gun. More shouting followed, and within moments Naji heard the sound of gunshots. Booth, moving with lightning fast precision, had leaned around the curtain and taken out the two men with guns who had been approaching.

"Let's go, Naji." Booth led the way, gun drawn and at the ready, as Naji followed carrying the girl. The gunshots had drawn the attention of more of the men, and just before they could reach the entrance they were intercepted by two more of them, armed with guns and shouting in Albanian.

Almost before the two guards had spotted them, one slumped to the floor, not even knowing what had hit him. A clean shot from Booth's gun, straight to the middle of the forehead.

Before he could get another shot off, a third guard appeared from behind the curtain to Booth's side, grabbing him and knocking the gun from his hand. Without hesitation, Booth drove his elbow back into the man's stomach and flipped him over his shoulders onto his back.

The second man, who had frozen momentarily in shock beside the man Booth had shot, was now approaching.

Booth used his free hand to pull the knife from the sheath he wore on his ankle, and hurled it with deadly accuracy directly into the man's gut, dropping him where he stood. That obstacle taken care of, Booth turned his attention back to the man who had knocked away his gun, who now lay gasping for breath at his feet.

Eyes full of rage, Booth grabbed the man and pulled him behind the first curtain, slamming him against the wall and holding him there with an arm across his throat. Naji followed him in, gently laying the girl down on the floor before stepping back out to retrieve Booth's gun and knife.

From the inside of his jacket, Booth pulled out the picture of Brennan that he had brought along to help in the search - the same picture he had shown Naji. Holding the picture in front of the Albanian man's face, he gritted his teeth as he pushed out his angry words. "Have you seen her? This woman - this woman right here - _where is she?"_

The man clearly did not understand, speaking back in panicked, rapid fire Albanian. Booth stepped back slightly and released his hold as he took his gun and knife back from Naji, still maintaining a menacing proximity to the man's face. "Naji, translate. Tell him every word I say."

Naji did so, translating into Albanian as Booth re-holstered his gun. When his captive took too long to answer, the point of Booth's knife found its way to the man's throat as his rage boiled over. "Answer, damnit! Where is this woman? _Do you know where she is?_ "

Booth could feel Naji trying to pull him back, but didn't care. The terrified man responded in Albanian, and Naji translated. "He says he doesn't know, Seel. Says he's never seen her."

In half a heartbeat, Booth had moved the knife from the throat to just between the man's legs, his other hand gripping the throat tightly to hold him in place. He applied just enough pressure to the point of the knife to illustrate his point, completely in control. "Listen. To me. I don't have time to _dick_ around while you fucking play with me. Naji, explain it to him."

Naji actually half smirked at that. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that one doesn't translate over exactly the way you intended."

Booth's answering tightlipped smirk was lethal and held no trace of humor. His eyes never left his captive. "Oh, I think he gets the message. What do you think, Naji?"

Naji's voice was serious. "I think he's telling the truth - I'm pretty sure this guy's only interested in saving his own worthless skin. But now the question is what do you plan to do with him? You let him go, every trafficker in the country's gonna know who we are and what we're after."

The Albanian trafficker hadn't understood the conversation, but had definitely picked up on Booth's sudden hesitation. He made the deadly miscalculation of trying to press his momentary advantage and gain the upper hand by being a tough guy. He knew only a few English words, none of them very nice, but he had managed to mentally string together a semi-coherent English sentence while Booth and Naji had been talking. Had he kept it to himself, there was at least a 50/50 chance he might have eventually been able to pick himself up off the floor and walk out of there alive.

Instead, he chose to utter that ill-conceived sentence in a thick Albanian accent, gesturing lewdly at the photo of Brennan. "Fucking whore. Killed her myself."

It was the last mistake he ever made.

Ooo . ooo . ooo

Other than insisting that he be the one to drive this time, Naji had not said a word since he and Booth had left the warehouse. Booth had carefully tended to the young woman they had rescued, but it was clear that she needed medical attention and would not be able to provide them any information - she was barely even lucid. Naji was fairly certain that wasn't why Booth had chosen to rescue her, anyway.

Without really having to discuss it, they had taken the young woman to the closest hospital, depositing her there in the emergency room in a nurse's care before quickly taking their leave. It was only once they returned to their vehicle that Naji decided what he wanted to say.

"You knew she wasn't going to be able to tell us anything, so don't give me that. Why did you decide it was worth getting us both shot at to take the wrong girl with us?"

Booth refused to meet Naji's eyes. "I just couldn't leave her there."

Naji was quick to fill in the unspoken words. "Because she reminded you of her."

Booth sighed. "Is it really so important, Naji? Okay, for a minute I thought she was Bones. I know that saving one girl doesn't make that much difference. But it might make a difference to that one girl and her family. And I just couldn't do it."

It was Naji's turn to sigh. "So what now? I got info on at least one more place like the last one, but after that last performance the word has probably already spread about us."

Booth shook his head. "Everybody that got a look at us is dead. The bastard I knocked unconscious was on the other side of the curtain when I hit him - he never saw us."

Naji just grimaced as he directed the car toward the next location he had learned about at the bar. They had not even driven another two blocks when Booth's cell phone rang. "Booth, it's Cam. We're all here except Zack and Hodgins, and they're both still working on things from their end. Sweets has got something for you. I'm going to put you on speaker."

Booth quickly hit the button to put his phone on speaker as well, so that Naji could listen in.

"Agent Booth. I finished going through those psych evals and videotaped debriefings from Dr. Benjamin. Something was bugging me about one of them, and I've watched it, like, a zillion times now."

Booth was nodding impatiently, though he knew Sweets couldn't see him. "What have you got, Sweets?"

"The man who initially discovered the remains, Edon Tolka. I think he 'tricked' his psych evaluation, and after watching his NATO debriefing I'm convinced that he could be dangerous. On a closer viewing, he shows very subtle but classic signs of antisocial personality disorder. I think there's a very good possibility that this man is a true sociopath."

Booth's disappointment was evident in his voice. "Sweets, I've already interrogated this guy. He didn't so much as flinch, and I gave him plenty of reason to. It's not him."

Sweets was becoming more and more animated as he spoke. "Booth, sociopaths have been known to beat lie detectors, without even breaking a sweat. They can be glib, charming, and extremely manipulative. His psych eval was almost _too_ textbook normal, which is what caught my attention, but he was completely different in that debriefing. He hides it well, but he's extremely narcissistic and self-entitled. If he thought Dr. Brennan was going to get in his way, he would have no remorse or guilt about acting against her. It's classic."

Booth was still not convinced. "So you're telling me that this guy tricked the government psychologists who analyzed him, and passed Benjamin's little debriefing without raising any red flags, but you've picked up something that they all missed from a 30 minute video? I'm sorry, Sweets, but it's not enough. We have leads to follow here in Vlore, and time is running out. I can't drive three hours back to Tirana to re-interview Edon Tolka without something more than that to go on."

No one had even noticed Zack walking into the room, but he had frozen in place at Booth's last words. Every eye turned to him when he very intensely asked, "What did you just say?"

Booth had heard him through the speaker phone. "Zack, I said it's not enough to go on. Have you got anything for me on the code?"

Zack had not yet moved, his mind clearly in control and working overtime. "No, the name - what was the _name_ that you just said?"

The importance of Zack's question did not immediately impact Booth and Cam, but Angela understood it instantly. She had worked with Zack closely enough to know that his brilliant mind could detect even the most obscure pattern from a string of characters that were seemingly random, no computer needed.

"Edon Tolka, Zack," she answered. "T-O-L-K-A. He's the lead archaeologist that discovered the remains that Brenn was in Albania to identify."

"3 8655!" Zack's body had immediately gone from completely still to a blur of motion as he made his way to the computer screen, his injured hands nearly forgotten as they flew across the keyboard almost normally, bringing up a digital demonstration of his words as he spoke. "3 8655. The numbers correspond to the letters on a telephone keypad. The numbers 3 8655 would represent a large number of potential spellings. I already ran every possible combination through the computer - one of them would be E-T-O-L-K - E Tolk. It is an acceptable assumption that Dr. Brennan was attempting to spell the first initial and last name of Edon Tolka, but the code is incomplete."

Cam was a step ahead of him. "That's why the computer never picked up the connection when you cross referenced all of the names we had against the possible code solutions - it wasn't complete."

Zack was speaking a mile a minute as he continued. "Precisely. The incomplete code caused the number of variables to be too great, and the computer would have disregarded the partial match as an implausible option. To complete the code, there should have been a 2 on the end to represent the A. I can't tell you _why_ it's not there, I don't _do_ why, but I am confident in the conclusion that 8 3655 stands for E Tolk."

Booth did know why. "She ran out of time, Zack. He must have caught her before she could complete the message. _Son-of-a-bitch._ "

At the moment that Zack had cracked the code, Angela had also sprung into motion, her fingers flying across the computer that neighbored the one Zack was working on. Her eyes widened at what she found. "Booth! I just checked Edon Tolka's bank account again, and in the last 6 hours he's had the equivalent of $5,000 U.S. wired into his account from an offshore bank."

Booth did not even get time to reply before Hodgins' somewhat breathless voice interrupted, sounding as though he was running into the room. "Cam! Get Booth on the phone! Brennan's cell phone is back up."

Booth answered for himself. "Hodgins, I'm here! What'd you find?"

Hodgins was out of breath as he relayed his findings. "Booth, her cell signal just sprang back to life, and it's bouncing off a tower in Tirana. I can't get much more specific than that, but the phone is on and in Tirana."

After a heartbeat of silence, the team at the Jeffersonian heard Booth's terse, "Turn around," and then a click as the call disconnected.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Just over two and a half hours later, Edon Tolka was whistling to himself as he made his way from his house to his van, wearing his expensive suit. His second sale had gone off without a hitch, he had confirmed that the message on the anthropologist's cell phone was from the same man who had already interrogated and cleared him, and he had withdrawn his entire spotter's fee from his bank account in cash. Now all that remained was to go and pay off the men he owed, and he would be entirely in the clear. In fact, he thought he might even take a little trip to the airport afterwards to pick up his next acquisition. Spotting was turning out to be far more lucrative than archaeology.

As he opened the door of his van, he never even saw the two men coming up behind him. Before he had time to react, his elbow was suddenly held in a steely grip, keeping his arm stretched out in front of him as the door of the van was slammed on his hand, hard. As he howled in agony, he was denied even the luxury of doubling over in pain, thanks to the iron-tight grip of a hand around his throat, slamming him against the outside of the van.

His vision blurred, but he was still able to gain enough focus to look into the eyes of the man who seemed to be crushing his throat barehanded - eyes that were so dark with rage they appeared almost black.

"Hello, Edon." Edon could only gape in terror as the man finally spoke, in a voice so deceptively calm that it sent chills down his spine.

"Remember me?"

ooo . ooo . ooo

Booth wasted no time in forcefully dragging Edon back into his house. He didn't bother with keys, choosing rather to kick the door in on his way through. Once inside, he slammed him against the nearest wall, bringing his face close to him as he spoke, his voice low and dangerous.

"Okay, Edon. We're going to try this again. Let me tell you how this is going to go. _You_ are going to tell me what I want to know - and you've cost me enough time already, so don't think for one goddamn second that I give a _fuck_ what I have to do to get you to talk. You got it?" On the last words, Booth gave him a violent shake against the wall to demonstrate that he was deadly serious.

Terrified and in great pain from his throbbing hand, Edon just stood there panting, eyes wild as he desperately sought escape. Naji had already begun making his way through the house, searching for Brennan or any sign that she had been there.

Without warning, Booth swiftly drew his fist back and crashed it into Edon's stomach. Before the man could double over, Booth grabbed his throat in a tight squeeze and pushed him back against the wall again, bouncing his head off it. "I asked you a question, Tolka. When I ask you a question, you answer. Understand?"

Edon, who was beginning to get the idea, finally choked out an answer in the affirmative.

Just for good measure, Booth swung his elbow up and into Edon's jaw before continuing. "Good. One question. Dr. Temperance Brennan. Where is she?"

When Edon didn't answer, Booth punched him in the stomach again - hard - and squeezed his throat even tighter. His eyes were practically black in their intensity, and his voice was barely more than a harsh whisper. "You picked the wrong woman to kidnap, Tolka. Look at my face. Look in my eyes." As Edon did so, he heard the sound of a gun being cocked, and then felt cold steel against his chin as Booth continued. "You have no idea who you're dealing with right now. I could kill you and not even blink. I'm nobody you want to fuck with, and she's definitely not something you want to fuck with me about."

Edon was now close to tears. "I told you before! I don't know - I never even saw her!" He saw the fury flashing in Booth's eyes, and truly feared for his life. He would have gladly taken his chances with the bookies rather than facing this man.

Booth leaned forward to whisper angrily in the direction of Edon's ear. " _Wrong. Fucking. Answer_." He drove his knee up and into Edon's stomach before dragging the man out into the hallway. He quickly found the bathroom and shoved Edon into it. Two hard blows to Edon's shoulders with the gun followed by a punch to the kidney drove him to his knees before the toilet. Booth dug his fingers into Edon's scalp and wrenched his head back, forcing him to look up at him backwards. "Think hard about how you want to answer that question next time - if I decide you get a chance to hear it again."

With that, Booth shoved Edon's head face-first into the toilet, forcefully submerging his face below the water. In his rage, he was able to hold the struggling man there as if it were nothing.

Naji, having finished his inspection of the house, chose that moment to walk into the bathroom. One eyebrow arched toward the top of his head when he took in what was going on. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he calmly intoned, "Not that this son of a bitch doesn't deserve it, but I suppose you know that if you drown him he's not going to be very much use to us?"

"I know what I'm doing, Noj," Booth threw over his shoulder.

Naji just half grinned. Truth be told, he could see that, and this time he wasn't really worried. For the first time other than those few moments in the warehouse, this was a Booth he recognized - 100% in control of himself and taking care of business. Finally having something to do, Booth had channeled his rage and fear into something constructive. "Just checking, man," Naji chuckled. "Just checking."

A moment later, Booth violently pulled a sputtering, coughing Edon up from the water. Even as the man gasped for air, Booth yanked him to his feet and slammed him once more against the wall. The veins in Booth's forearm stood out as he dug it into Edon's throat to hold him there. "Let's try it again, Edon. Dr. Temperance Brennan. _My partner_. Where. Is she?"

Edon was afraid this man _might_ kill him either way, but something told him he would be killed for sure if he admitted what he had done with the woman. Self-preservation having always been his only motivation in life, he turned again to the lies that he had always counted on. "I don't know where she is. I really don't…"

He never got the rest of that sentence out, because the business end of a gun was jammed with no warning into his mouth. Booth's voice was cold and almost unrecognizable in his anger. "I'm going to tell you something, Edon, and you're going to listen. You're going to goddamn _shut up_ and listen." He emphasized those two words by pressing the gun just a little deeper into Edon's throat, feeling a grim satisfaction as the already winded man gagged. "It's not a matter of whether or not you took her - I already know you took her. Her cell phone sent me a message with your fucking name on it, so we can drop the games. The only questions here are what you did with her, and just exactly how slow I'm gonna kill you if you don't tell me where she is _right now._ "

Edon's eyes widened as he realized he was caught. His mind flashed back to the moment he had found the anthropologist on the ground beside the table in the upstairs room, when he had concluded that she was going for the phone. The bitch must have already used the phone when he found her, and had put it back on the table. She had tricked him. Almost subconsciously, his good hand reached toward his pocket, fingering the phone that had almost certainly been his demise.

Attuned to every movement of the man he was trying to resist strangling, Booth did not miss that act - one that made his blood run cold. Slowly - ever so slowly - he pulled the gun out of Edon's mouth and took a step back, holstering his weapon. No longer supported by the arm at his throat, the terrified Edon slid to the floor. Playing a hunch, Booth slowly took out his own cell phone and dialed Brennan's number with suddenly trembling fingers. He had resisted doing so multiple times since he had received her message - if by chance she did have the phone on her, he didn't want to give her away and get her killed. But now he was becoming increasingly certain that he knew where it was.

As he waited, the only audible sounds were his own quiet breathing and Edon's labored breaths. The next sound he heard seemed to fill the entire room - the ringtone he recognized instantly as his partner's.

Although he had already been sure that Edon was guilty, this concrete proof of it only served to further intensify his rage at the man who had dared take his partner away from him. A furious growl escaped his throat, and he delivered a savage kick to Edon's ribs to subdue him before falling on him, frantically searching his pockets until he found the phone. For some reason, looking at the display and seeing his own name flashed back at him - " _missed call: Booth_ " - tugged even harder at his already crumbling restraint.

Wordlessly, he flipped the phone over his shoulder to Naji before hauling Edon back to his feet, gripping his collar so tightly he was practically lifting him from the floor. "Last chance. Where _is_ she?" When Edon still refused to answer, Booth momentarily snapped, surrounding Edon's throat with both hands and squeezing hard.

He heard a low whistle come from Naji's direction, followed by a soft, "Oh my God." Turning his head, he saw that Naji was looking at something on the phone display. The grim look in Naji's eyes didn't just catch Booth's attention - it terrified him.

Releasing Edon's throat, he shoved him to the ground against the wall and forced him face down on the ground. He leaned over to speak low and menacingly in his ear. "Right there. You stay right there." Booth was no more than one step away when Edon tried to push up to his knees. Booth turned on him again, his hand going to his gun as he used his foot to shove him back to the ground. He left his foot on the back of Edon's head for just a minute, applying pressure until the man cried out in pain. "Move another muscle - give me a reason." Satisfied that Edon would not dare move, Booth proceeded directly for Naji, hand outstretched to take the phone from him.

Naji clearly did not want to give it to him. When Booth reached for it, Naji pulled it slightly behind him for a moment, his other hand out in front of him in the classic "wait" gesture. All of his normal teasing had disappeared, and his tone was deadly serious. "Seeley, before I hand you this, I just want to make sure you understand. She was obviously here, but she's not now, and if you kill him he can't tell you where she is."

"I _know_ that, Naji. Give me the damn phone."

Naji reluctantly released the phone into Booth's outstretched hand, prepared to do damage control.

When Booth had first thrown Naji the phone, the first thing Naji had done was check the incoming and outgoing calls. Not finding much of interest there, he had proceeded to the pictures. If he was honest, once he had recovered from the initial shock the pictures had even pissed _him_ off. He had not yet met Dr. Brennan, but he considered Booth to be family. And if Booth loved this woman, that was good enough for Naji. He couldn't help but think that if the pictures made him want to get his own fingers around Edon's throat, he could only imagine how Booth must feel.

There was almost dead silence in the room as Booth scrolled through the pictures. He had not been prepared for the sight of his partner, bound on the hard ground, terror evident in her eyes. He took his time scanning the first picture, taking in every detail - the angry bruise on her cheek where she had been struck; the way the crude gag pulled at her face; the red marks around the edges of the gag where her face had been grabbed; the finger bruises clearly forming on her arms; the way the overly tight rope cut into her flesh. He swallowed his fear and rage, and moved on to the next picture; he did not want to miss a single detail of what had been done to her. He scanned through the rest of the pictures, coming to rest on the last one Edon had taken of her, bound in the back of his van with the pillowcase over her head.

Booth couldn't breathe. Time seemed to stand still as he looked at that picture. After the Gravedigger, after what she had told him about being locked in the trunk of a car, this bastard had stuck a _fucking pillowcase_ over her head and thrown her in the back of a van.

Edon saw the hatred in Booth's eyes as he turned to face him, and made every effort to shrink back through the wall to get away from him. It did him no good. Booth was on him in a millisecond, flipping him to his back and flattening him there with the knee that he ground into his ribs. One hand again gripped Edon's throat, almost cutting off his air supply, as the other hand held the camera inches from Edon's nose, forcing him to look at that final picture.

Booth clenched his teeth as he ground out his next question in a hoarse whisper. " _Did you kill her_?"

He relinquished just enough of his grip on Edon's throat to allow him to answer. "No! No, I didn't kill her. Please! She's still alive - I didn't kill her!" Edon thrashed his head back and forth in desperation, hands grasping at Booth's arms, trying to get him to release him.

Booth growled low in his throat as he retightened his grip, danger emanating from every inch of him. His voice was so low that Naji almost had to strain to hear from his place a few feet away. "Then _where is she?"_

Edon's self preservation instincts were now telling him that it was time to tell the truth. "I sold her! You don't understand - they were going to kill me! I needed the money. Please!" The man was begging now, but Booth had barely got past his first three words.

The rollercoaster ride Booth had been on - alternating between relief and horror each time the prostitution ring theory was discredited or supported - finally came to a crashing halt. There was no question to whom Edon had sold her. For the first time, there was no denying what had happened to Bones. The puzzle pieces all fit into place. "Vlore? You sold her in Vlore? _Answer me_ , damnit!" Booth shook him violently as he asked the question.

Edon was close to blacking out at that point, but he was able to confirm that Vlore was indeed where he had made the transaction.

In less than a heartbeat, Booth was searching all of Edon's pockets. He first found the wad of cash, not yet realizing that it was the money Edon had withdrawn from his bank account from his second sale. He would deal with that later. He was looking for Edon's keys, and when he found them he quickly tossed them to Naji.

"Naji! Take his van, and start driving back to Vlore. I'm going to find out from him exactly where and to whom he sold her. I'll call you with the information when I get it. Those auctions you mentioned? My gut is telling me you're right about that. Do what you have to do to get on the inside and find out where she is - whatever you have to do, Noj. When I'm done with him, I'll be in the car on my way there."

Naji was already halfway out the door before he turned back. "And what exactly do I do if I find her? She sees anybody but you coming at her, you've already told me enough about her to know she's gonna go ballistic on me. That's not gonna do anything but get me and her both killed. You go to Vlore, and I'll stay here and drag the rest of the info out of this bastard."

Booth was insistent. "No, Naji. I don't speak Albanian. You've already said that if she's going to be auctioned, it will be invitation only. I need you there finding us a way to get on the inside."

Naji passed a hand over his face, trying to think. "Okay, fine. You know her, Seeley. Supposing I get near her, how do I let _her_ know I'm one of the good guys without tipping off the bad guys at the same time?"

Booth hesitated. Would she remember? It was no more than an obscure reference to a case they had worked years ago. Would she be able to remember it, after the stress of her ordeal and the drugs they surely had pumping through her veins? It was a huge gamble, and the stakes had never been higher. "If you find her, this is what you say." He leaned in and spoke quietly, so that only Naji could hear him. Tolka wouldn't be going anywhere, but he still didn't want him to hear.

Naji nodded. "All right. Give me her phone."

Booth was already handing it to him, even as he asked. "Why? You've already got your phone."

Naji shrugged noncommittally. "Just in case. Just trust me on this one." And with that, he was gone.

Before Naji was even out of sight, Booth had turned once again toward Edon. He looked down at the man for a moment, giving the furious rage time to grow again in his belly as he remembered the sight of Brennan in those pictures. No way in hell was he done with Edon Tolka yet - no way in hell. In fact, he was just getting started.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Immediately after leaving Edon's house, Naji returned to the jet to retrieve a bag he had been careful to hide from Booth since his arrival - a bag he had hidden on the jet in Lisbon before making his presence known. A bag full of an absolutely obscene amount of cash. Doing so had already proved to be the correct decision once, right after his arrival, when Booth had immediately begun to insist upon paying him for his services. It was proving again now to be the correct decision, because it was just better that Booth not know exactly _how_ he planned to infiltrate the high dollar prostitution ring.

It wasn't that Naji had any problem with blasting his way in, guns blazing; that approach had actually served him quite well in life, and if he were perfectly honest he would have to admit he preferred it. But once in a while - for example, when the life of his best friend's girl was at stake - a different approach could be safer, and it didn't hurt to have more money than God when those times came.

He knew that he was going to have to spend money like water to get on the inside, and the last thing he needed was Booth feeling guilty about it. He would spend his last dime if it was necessary, and he'd be damned if he'd let Booth talk him into hiring him later so he could work off the bill. He had known before they ever left Lisbon that the topic would come up again, and he was prepared for it. There had been a time he had greatly pressured his friend to partner with him in his business; but it was a risky business, and now Booth was a father and seemed more than happy with his FBI career, not to mention his lady partner.

On the topic of Dr. Brennan, he agreed with Booth's gut feeling that they should now be focusing on the high-dollar auctions. He had seen the wad of cash that Booth had pulled from Edon's pocket. Naji knew that if that was the money Edon had received from selling Booth's girl, then the men who paid that much were certainly hoping for a considerable return on their investment - more than they would receive from ordinary forced street prostitution or the type of sickening warehouse operation he and Booth had already wreaked havoc upon. She was certainly a beautiful and classy woman, and the auctions seemed the most likely prospect.

Having secured his bag, which was full of large, unmarked bills, he got back on the road. He was somewhat glad for the chance to be alone for a while, because it would give him the opportunity to take care of a couple more items of business that he would rather Booth not have to worry about. Pulling out Brennan's cell phone that he had taken from Booth, he was quickly able to find the number that would connect him with the team Booth had been working with at the Jeffersonian.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Needless to say, when the caller ID told Cam that she was receiving a call from Dr. Brennan, it caused a moment of great excitement at the Jeffersonian. When that moment passed, however, wary confusion took over as the team crowded around Cam's phone, listening to Naji on speaker.

After the initial disappointment, Jack Hodgins was even less thrilled to find out he was speaking with the mysterious man he had distrusted on sight. "Oh, good, it's our _friend_ with no name. Where's Booth?"

"Aloha!" Zack politely repeated Naji's original greeting from their first contact, earning a slightly annoyed look from the other four. "What?"

"Why are you calling us," Cam wanted to know, ignoring Zack's question. "And where _is_ Booth?"

Naji gave them the _extremely_ abbreviated version, careful to leave out anything upsetting - which, at that point, was practically everything. He told them only that Booth had sent him to follow a lead and that they had recovered Brennan's cell phone, from which he now spoke to them. "Listen, the reason I'm calling…Booth and I found two pieces of evidence outside Dr. Brennan's hotel, and he had Dr. Benjamin send them to a local crime lab for analysis. All of the results were to be sent to you, Dr. Saroyan."

"Yes," Cam informed him cautiously. "We received the lab's results."

Naji sensed her hesitancy to relay information to him without Booth, but he continued on. "Were they able to identify DNA and find out what the drug in the syringe was?"

Again, Cam replied somewhat cautiously. "Yes, the DNA and the drug were identified."

At that point Hodgins jumped in. "Whoa, wait a minute. Why should we tell you? We don't even know your name, and yet somehow you now have Dr. B's cell phone and we can't talk to Booth? I say Booth is the one who requested the information, and I think we should wait for Booth."

Naji couldn't see it, but he could sense the silent communication happening at the Jeffersonian as all five members of the team looked at each other, trying to decide how to proceed. He sighed. "Look, I get it, okay? I really do. But I'm here to help. To do that I need to know the lab results, and Booth's a little busy right now. Can you help me?"

A few tense moments passed, in which Naji could hear whispering but no distinct voices. He could barely hear Angela's quiet voice as she finally spoke up, speaking not to him but to the other four. "You guys, Booth trusted him enough to help him get _Bren_ back."

Obviously, Naji thought, Booth's feelings for his partner were not exactly a well-kept secret. His reply was soft, without any trace of sarcasm. "That tell you anything?"

It was Cam, as usual, who confidently made the decision. "Yes. It does. That's good enough for me."

With that, she proceeded to give him the information he asked for - the rag had traces of chloroform, and the DNA on the syringe did indeed belong to Dr. Brennan. When she told him the name of the drug in the syringe, he had a few more questions about drugs that would counteract the effects of it. Hodgins - who had softened his attitude considerably - was able to give him the answers he needed.

Just before he disconnected, Naji had just one other question. "What's the number to her phone - the one I'm calling you from?"

Cam recited the digits back to him, and he punched them into his own phone, programming the speed dial. He already had some ideas about how that could come in handy later if a distraction was needed.

"Thanks. Hey, listen - don't worry. We're gonna do everything we can to get her back, and I'm looking out for Booth too. I'm pretty good at my job." A twinkle of his usual mirth entered his voice on his last words - "Oh, and Zack? Aloha." The line went dead almost immediately, and the team shared an uncomfortable silence, united in their shared concern for Brennan. It was Zack who finally broke that silence.

"I still don't think he's actually Hawaiian."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

For Brennan, time had long since ceased to have any meaning. She was no longer able to say with any certainty how long she had been in captivity, and the strain - both mental and physical - was beginning to wear down her steely resolve. Some stubborn part of her realized that this was exactly what her captors intended, and it was that fact that shot a spark of defiance through her and kept her determined to fight. Each time food appeared, she choked it down to keep her strength up. They had replaced her pitcher, and she forced herself to drink as well. Other than that, all she could do was wait.

She had been able to trick the man with the syringes, for the most part, into believing she was still too drugged to need further dosing. Fortunately, it was not always the same man delivering the drugs, and so he did not catch on to the fact that the same girl was missing a dose each time. Unfortunately, her exhausted body could not fight the pull of sleep, and so the man had come in one time and caught her fitfully dozing. When he had slapped at her jaws, she had awoken and reacted to him before she could adopt her drugged demeanor. That had resulted in another dose of the drugs.

It seemed that that particular dose was the one that had pushed her body over the brink. The next time the man came around after she had regained consciousness, it took all of her will to force herself to keep up the pretense so he wouldn't inject her. Her entire body was screaming at her to allow him - no, to beg him - to give her another dose. When he left, she could barely control the trembling in her body.

Grasping for control, she reminded herself that what she experienced as a desperate longing for the drug was nothing more than a physiological response. _'It is simply a physiological reaction. The drugs have suppressed my brain's production of neurotransmitters. The sudden absence of the drugs has produced a surge of adrenaline, causing withdrawal symptoms.'_ Though she understood it rationally, she could not deny that the reality of it was quite powerful.

As she trembled, her mind checked off her physical symptoms, recognizing them all as the symptoms of withdrawal: nausea, sweating, palpitations, tremors, muscle tension. There were mental symptoms associated with withdrawal as well, and she acknowledged her anxiety and difficulty concentrating as also being linked to her comedown from the drugs.

It was the emotional aspect that she was having difficulty quantifying - specifically, the almost irresistible urge to break down in tears every time Booth's face flashed through her mind, inevitably followed by the overwhelming desire to have him wrap his arms around her as tightly as he had done when she last saw him at the airport.

She was not sure why it was so important for her to be able to categorize those thoughts - why she felt the need to _know_ whether or not they were related to the drugs. She was aware of no such emotional manifestations of drug withdrawal. All she knew was that for some unexplainable reason her desire to be with Booth again was equally powerful as her body's desire for the drug, and that that desire was what had ultimately pushed her to ignore her body's craving and avoid injection again.

 _'That's irrational,'_ her logical mind argued. Physical and mental symptoms of drug withdrawal were proven and well documented scientific fact. They could not simply be overridden by something as intangible as emotion. Logically, that meant it had been an act of her will - a _mental_ act, not an emotional one - that must have given her the strength to resist her physical craving for the drugs. After all, there was no such thing as addiction to a person…was there?

And yet… _'I_ _do_ _need him_.' Her admission flooded every crevice of her mind, leaving no room for the tears she had been holding in her eyes. Rational or not, the desire to see him again seemed to give her focus and help her fight this battle. It could help her, and she needed all the weapons she could get.

As her mind turned to weapons, she thought of the shards of glass she had concealed beneath her leg and beneath her pillow. The one she had placed beneath her leg was now missing. Apparently, she had shifted in her drug induced haze and it had cut a painful gash into her leg. Upon awakening, she had discovered the bandaged wound and had seen the dried blood on the sheets from where it had bled. The shard was missing, but to her great relief the one under her pillow was still there. She could only surmise that whoever brought the food and new pitcher had seen the blood and removed the shard that had cut her.

Down to one weapon, she knew she would have to be very, very sure of her timing in utilizing it. When her bed companion had first been taken away, her original plan had been to use the shard on the man with the keys when he eventually came to unlock _her_ and take her away. But she had second guessed that plan when they had temporarily brought her bed companion back, provocatively dressed for what Brennan could only assume was a sale of some type. Hours later, they had taken the girl away for good.

The decision that Brennan now faced was not an easy one. _'One chance,'_ her mind screamed. Should she take the shard with her and fight the first time she was taken away, having seen nothing outside of the curtains around the area in which she was held? Even if she managed to escape, she would have no idea where she was going. Or should she try to wait for the second time, taking the risk that she would not be taken back to the same bed where she could arm herself?

In the end, she realized that her decision had already been made for quite some time. She had promised herself in the very beginning that she would give Booth every possible second to find her, only taking dangerous and drastic action if she were in imminent danger of being violated in some horrible way. She decided that she would go willingly and unarmed the first time, watching closely and gathering as much information as possible, such as the location of exits and how many guards there might be. If the pattern followed, it would at least buy her a few extra hours for Booth to find her.

And if he had not found her by the time they took her away the second time, then at least maybe before she died she would get the satisfaction of jamming that shard of glass into whoever they intended to sell her to.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Moments after Naji had left them alone, Edon Tolka had finally passed out from the combination of fear and pain Booth had subjected him to. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself once again staring directly up into the eyes of his worst nightmare.

Booth towered over the man, his hands on his hips. "Rise and shine, Edon. We're not done here." A sharp poke of his foot into Edon's sore ribs accentuated the fact that he meant it. "Get up. Now."

Gingerly, Edon moved as though to obey, pushing himself up onto his knees. As he rose unsteadily to his feet, the urge to flee suddenly overwhelmed him. Without warning, he tried to run for the door.

Edon did not even make it two steps away before Booth had grabbed him by the hair, his other hand grabbing the back of his shirt. Using Edon's own momentum, Booth turned and swung him face first into the wall, then used his body to pin him flat against it. The side of Edon's face was crushed against the wall. With one hand, Booth grabbed Edon's fingers that he had slammed in the van door, wrenching that arm behind and pushing it up into the middle of Edon's back. Edon howled in pain as he did so.

Booth had only intended to get the rest of the information he needed from Edon as quickly as possible. But the escape attempt infuriated him, and it was evident in his voice. "Tell me something, Edon. Did my partner try to run too? Before you tied her up and stuck a fucking _pillowcase_ over her head, did she try to get away? Did she _?_ " Booth could feel himself beginning to lose control, but he had to know. " _Answer_ me, goddamnit! Did she try to run?" He gave Edon's injured fingers another vicious twist.

Edon cried out in pain before answering, "No! Yes! She fought! Please don't kill me! _"_

For some reason, the plea only intensified Booth's rage. "How about begging, Edon? Huh? Did she do that too? Before you hit her in the face and shoved a goddamn _gag_ in her mouth to shut her up, did she ask you for _her_ life? Was she afraid, Edon?"

Edon was sobbing unashamedly at this point, but only for his own plight. "Yes - no - yes…she asked why. That's all she said - please!"

Booth spun Edon around to face him before drawing his fist back and hitting him squarely in the jaw with every ounce of the fury he felt. His voice was cold as he pulled the dazed Edon back up by the collar to look him squarely in the eye. "And yet you still fucking _sold_ her, you son of a bitch! Why? Tell me why right now, Edon, or I swear to God…"

Booth didn't have to complete that particular threat. If there was one topic that had always interested Edon - one topic he had always actually cared about - it was his own self. With nothing but total pity for his own self-made problems, he tearfully poured out the story. He left nothing out - his gambling addiction, his ever increasing debt, the bookies who had threatened to kill him, his elation at making the archaeological discovery, and his terror that Dr. Brennan was going to ruin it for him. As was normal for him, Edon was so wrapped up in his own self that he didn't see the pure disgust contorting Booth's features as he listened to the self-serving tale.

Booth was incredulous by the time he finished, gripping Edon's collar so tightly that his knuckles turned white. With one hand, he reached in Edon's pocket and pulled out the wad of cash he had first discovered when looking for the keys. "So this," he hissed, shoving it in Edon's face, "This is your goddamn blood money _?_ This is what you thought her life was worth? This is what you thought the life of the woman that means everything to me was _worth?_ "

Edon eyes widened, and he blubbered and pleaded as he tried to explain that only a small portion of it was from Dr. Brennan; he soon realized he should have kept his mouth shut when a clear but horrified understanding dawned on Booth's features. "There were others. Weren't there? You didn't just stop with her, did you _?_ Did you!? _"_

Edon could only shake his head and plead for his life again. But Booth suddenly knew exactly how he was going to deal with this man - a man that would wreck more lives if not unequivocally stopped. He grabbed Edon by the upper arms, making a point to dig his fingers in as deeply as possible. He had seen the finger bruises on Brennan's arms in the picture - along with her other injuries - and had no qualms about marking Edon up, bruise for bruise, mark for mark. Ignoring Edon's pleas, he dragged him back into the front hallway, looking for the bag of supplies that he vaguely remembered seeing Naji drop in the front doorway when they had first entered. After quickly finding the rope he was looking for, he swept Edon's legs out from under him and drove him to the floor, face first.

Taking the rope in his hand, he once again grabbed Edon's sore fingers and wrenched the hand behind him. He tied Edon's hands behind his back, pulling the ropes much more tightly than necessary. His voice was so calm it only terrified the kidnapper more.

"How does it feel, Edon? Did she cry out in pain when the ropes cut into her wrists? Beg you to stop?" Not waiting for an answer, he next tied Edon's ankles, just as he had seen in the picture of Brennan.

Edon could take no more. His own actions being turned back on him proved him to be a sniveling coward. "Please! Just take the money - you can have all of it. Just let me go!" Booth didn't even grace that with a response as he searched through the bag. Even Edon had to know it wasn't the money he wanted.

Booth's silence was unnerving to Edon, and he had to ask the one question he wanted answered. "Please…are you going to kill me?" Booth regarded him for a long moment, letting him sweat it out, before answering honestly. "No, Edon. I _want_ to kill you. But you're not worth the look in her eyes if she knew I killed you in cold blood. I have just two questions for you. You answer them both honestly, and you have my word…I won't kill you."

Edon was almost shaking with relief. He was going to get away with it! In his excitement, he failed to notice Booth's emphasis on the word "I". At that moment, he was willing to answer any question honestly.

Booth first wanted to know exactly where he had made the transaction. Edon gave it to him, right down to the last detail - the name of the street, the nightclub that was a front for the whole operation, even the name of the man who ran it. Booth had no doubt that he was telling the truth. Now he had a definite location to give Naji.

The next question seemed somewhat odd to Edon. Why did this man want to know where to find the bookies he owed? A smug smile almost crept across his face as he thought he figured it out - it was too good to be true. He knew his luck hadn't run out. This man must be a gambler himself, wanting to invest the money he had taken from Edon to make some fast cash in another country. Surely his plan was to simply take the money and let him go. He knew offering the American man the money had been the right move. After all, wasn't money the main thing everybody wanted? Now all Edon would have to do is make one or two more quick transactions, and he would still be able to pay off his debt and become a rich man. Happily, he gave Booth another very detailed description of where to find the men he owed.

So jubilant was Edon in his belief that he was about to be set free, he didn't even worry when he saw Booth approaching him - at least not until he noticed the rolled up piece of cloth and the rope in his hand. Terror filled him again as Booth reached for his face.

"Wait! You said you weren't going to kill me!" Edon fought uselessly against the tight ropes that cut into his wrists and ankles, trying to pull his face out of reach.

It was to no avail. Booth grabbed him by the face, squeezing hard, leaving marks just like those Tolka had left on Brennan. He explained as he shoved the cloth into Edon's mouth, tying the rope around it and behind Edon's head - _tight -_ "I'm not going to kill you, Edon. I'm going to let your own mistakes do that for you - every single bad decision you made in your entire life." Booth leaned close, the sudden calm in his voice even more terrifying than the barely controlled rage. "Just remember that the biggest mistake you ever made was when you decided to put your hands on the woman I love."

Edon was still trying to understand what that meant when Booth disappeared from the room for a moment. He returned holding a pillowcase. Edon had no doubt about where that was going, but his struggles to avoid it were useless. Soon he understood the terrifying claustrophobia that had enveloped his captives, as he fought to keep his breaths even.

Like Brennan before him, he had no concept of where he was being taken as Booth dragged him. He soon felt himself being lifted and dropped unceremoniously onto a hard surface. His relief at landing quickly was soon stymied by the unmistakable sound of a trunk lid closing over him.

Soon he heard a car cranking, followed by a drive that seemed to be never ending. When the car stopped, he did not have to wait long. He was lifted from the trunk and placed on the ground, before the pillowcase was ripped from his head. He blinked in the harsh sunlight, trying to see where he was. He was met by the chilling sight of a warehouse he recognized - the very place he had been on his way to visit earlier.

Booth returned to the car and lay down on the horn. When he saw the doors to the warehouse open and the armed thugs emerge, he peeled out of the parking lot and never looked back. As he took out his phone to give Naji the information on where Edon had sold Brennan, he never saw the terror on Edon's face as the bookies' henchmen dragged away the man they had been looking for.

ooo . ooo . ooo

As fate would have it, Temperance Brennan had made her decision just in the nick of time. Within moments, her heartbeat quickened as she heard the now familiar thud of approaching footsteps - only this time, they were beating a path straight toward her. She still didn't believe in premonition, but somehow she was certain that the time had come. As the footsteps drew very, very near, it was only with great effort that she restrained her twitching fingers from reaching beneath her pillow to retrieve the one remaining glass shard, suddenly unsure of her decision. What if they never brought her back to the bed as they had done with the other girl? If that happened, she would have lost her one chance.

When the curtain was thrown suddenly back and a large man appeared with keys already in hand, the surge of adrenaline that flooded through her body did nothing to ease the symptoms of withdrawal she was already suffering. If anything, her body seemed to shake even harder. As such, when he unlocked her and roughly hauled her to her feet, she did not have to fake the unsteadiness that she had seen in her companion when she had been taken away. Countless hours of inactivity combined with her fear and the lingering effects of the drugs, and she found herself barely able to stand on wobbly legs.

In that moment, as her eyes lit on the gun on the man's hip, she knew she had made the right decision. Even had she armed herself, she could not have won a fight in her condition, much less made an escape. Her weapon would surely have been found and taken from her when she was prepared for sale, and she would have lost her only opportunity. She winced in pain as the man led her from the room, half supporting her and half dragging her. His grasp dug into her upper arms, aggravating the bruises that she still bore from Edon's rough handling.

The sight that met her when they emerged from behind the curtain caused her breath to catch in her throat. A long hallway stretched before her, curtains running all the way to the far wall. She estimated that there could be as many as 50 other beds hidden behind them, and she knew what was undoubtedly hidden behind each curtain - more drugged young women, each awaiting a similar fate.

She was pulled along through a maze of doors and hallways, desperately trying to commit the path they were taking to memory. Finally, she was pulled to a stop in front of a closed door. An armed man stood just outside the entrance, and he accepted custody of her from the man who had brought her there. Unlocking and opening the door, he pushed her inside and closed it behind her. She heard the sound of the lock clicking, and was suddenly terrified to see where she had been taken.

She turned around quickly, and was greeted by the sight of what appeared to be a makeshift dressing room. Another door led off into what was obviously a large bathroom with multiple shower stalls. Inside the dressing room, two other young women - both obviously heavily drugged - seemed to be oblivious to the group of women in the room who were fixing their hair and applying makeup. Brennan suppressed a shudder. It may not have been a rational reaction, but somehow the fact that these _women_ were actively participating in this nightmarish enterprise against other women only made it seem a little worse. Upon closer inspection, however, she could see the signs of malnutrition and abuse that made it evident the women who were working there were no less trapped than she.

Two of them turned and intercepted her. Brennan briefly considered resisting; but she was unarmed and weak, and even if she could have overcome them and escaped the locked door, she would have been helpless against the armed guard behind it. Once again adopting the drugged demeanor she had perfected during her captivity in the bed, she willed herself to endure what she knew was coming.

She was led into the bathroom area, and forced herself to hold still as her clothes were taken from her and unceremoniously dumped into a large trash can. Next came the shower, which amounted to little more than having soap poured over her and being hosed down. She gasped as the cold water hit her, but her head did feel somewhat clearer afterwards. Her legs were shaved and her hair was shampooed and rinsed as she stood docile, reminding herself that she had to go through this if she hoped to be returned to her bed where she could arm herself. She was led from the shower area immediately after they finished washing her hair - the whole thing had taken less than five minutes.

After being dried off, the wound on her thigh from the shard of glass was re-bandaged, and then they began to dress her. She had been expecting this, having seen the provocative clothing her original bed companion had worn upon her return. Even so, _knowing_ it was going to happen and _having_ it happen were two very different things. As the women dressed her in the shimmery, revealing lingerie, garters, and gauzy robe, she suddenly felt more exposed and violated than she had since her arrival in Albania, even at the hands of Edon. Her feet were shoved into glittery high heels - like the ones her bed companion had returned in - that were at least two sizes too small.

The women never spoke to her or each other during the whole process, and Brennan actually felt a twinge of sympathy for them as they led her from the shower area back into the makeshift dressing room. Their eyes had no life or expression to them, and she didn't have to be skilled at reading expressions to detect their fear. She briefly wondered which fate was worse - theirs or the endless parade of women that they were forced to prepare.

She was pushed down into a chair, and two other women started immediately with a hairdryer. For the next hour, her hair was fixed and heavy makeup was applied. Through it all, she fought both tears and the urge to vomit as she attempted to maintain the façade of drugged unawareness. During that time, the women they had been working on before her had come and gone, and others were being brought in. It was clear that multiple women were being prepared, just as she was. Her tears threatened to fall as she realized that she was the only one of them aware of what was going on, and she had to fight the urge to yell at them to _wake up_ and see what was going on - to _fight._ Frustrated, she knew it would do no good; they were completely oblivious, enslaved to the drugs that they no longer cared to resist.

When they were finished with her, one of the women escorted her to the door, guiding her as she wobbled on the overly high heels. The woman pounded on the door and called out a single Albanian word that Brennan didn't understand, before turning and leaving her at the door. A few moments later, the door was opened by the same man who had unlocked her and led her there. He grabbed hold of her arms once again, leading her away past the armed guard. Brennan fought the revulsion she felt at appearing before these men in this way. She was not a prude nor overly modest, but she had certainly never appeared in revealing lingerie before any man that she did not have plans on becoming physically intimate with - and certainly not like this. The men did not even spare her a second glance, though, as the first one led her back the way they had originally come.

To her great relief, she was led back to the same bed she had been held captive in before. She allowed herself to be pushed back down onto it, and her hand to be reconnected to the cuff. As the man finally turned and walked away, pulling the curtain drawn behind him, she heaved a huge sigh of relief. Her free hand immediately flew beneath her pillow, and her heartbeat finally calmed somewhat as she felt the shard of glass there. Her fingers wrapped around it, and she drew it out carefully.

Despite its jagged edges, she held onto it like a lifeline. This sharp piece of glass was her only defense against the fate these men were determined to force upon her. Ever so carefully, she placed the glass shard against the bandage on the back of her leg and secured it there by tucking it under the strap of the garter than ran up the back of her leg. She moved around somewhat to test it, until she was satisfied that it was held there securely. When standing, it would be just below where her fingertips would rest against her leg, providing her easy access to it. The bandage would protect her skin from the glass, and hopefully the robe - though sheer - would provide just enough cover to keep anyone from seeing it.

She reached for the food and water that had appeared in her absence, forcing herself to remain calm as she ate and drank. She would need every ounce of strength she could muster - her time had run out. She could no longer afford to wait for Booth to find her. The next time they came, she would choose her moment. She would escape, or she would die trying. If it were the latter, however, she now thought she might like to take a few of them with her.

ooo . ooo . ooo

After disconnecting his call to the Jeffersonian, Naji needed to make a few more stops before finishing the drive to Vlore. Even with his considerable skills, it took him a little longer than expected to find a source from whom he could purchase the drugs that Dr. Hodgins had said would counteract what Dr. Brennan had been given. If he did find her before Booth could get there, it would certainly help to have her conscious and cooperative in her own rescue. Hell, if what Booth had told him about her was true, it would be more than a help - he might need her to help rescue _him._

Two more stops near the Tirana airport, and he was the owner of both an extremely expensive new suit, and an even more expensive flashy new sports car - not to mention the finest box of cigars in the country, compliments of the auto dealer whose day he had just made. He was still almost an hour away from Vlore when his own phone rang, and he quickly took the call when he realized it was Booth. "So how's our boy Edon?" he asked with no other greeting. "And I hope to hell you're going to tell me that son of a bitch is not still sucking the same air as the rest of us."

Booth was apparently in no mood to discuss it. "If he is, he won't be for long. I made damn sure of that. You got anything yet?"

Naji sincerely wished there was a way he could hedge without outright lying, but when he couldn't think of one he just went with the truth. "Nah, about an hour away from Vlore. But I should get there just about the right time of night for what I need to do anyway."

Booth sounded ready to explode. "Whoa, what the hell happened, Noj? Still an hour away?" Now that he knew where Brennan was, Booth was consumed with the necessity of getting to her as quickly as possible. His relief at having a definite place to look for her wrestled for supremacy in his mind over the terror at what could be happening to her with each extra second that passed before he found her. More than anything, he wanted her safe in his arms again, so badly he could almost feel her there - and he was willing to go through anybody he had to in order to make that happen. His decision having long since been made to tell her how he felt, he was first going to make sure she was safe, and then he wasn't going to rest until she _knew._ Ever since the lecture Cam had given him about waiting until it was too late, he knew the words would weigh him down like a heavy burden until he spoke them.

Naji hesitated before answering Booth's question. He sure as hell wasn't going to tell Booth _where_ the car had come from, but Booth would see it sooner or later and he knew he'd never be able to get away without telling him at least part of it. "Well for one thing, Seel, you sent me off in Edon's bucket of bolts - thanks for that, by the way. No way the kind of guy who gets in where I gotta go is gonna be driving that hunk of tin. So I had to commandeer some new transportation. It took a little while."

Just as Naji had figured, Booth didn't just let it go. He never had been one to let anything drop. "What? Whoa…Naji, how the hell did you come up with another car?"'

"Okay. Fine. How the hell did you get rid of Edon?" Naji fired back with the one thing it seemed Booth wanted to talk about even _less_ than Naji wanted to talk about paying cash for a $50,000 sports car.

At the answering silence, Naji smirked to himself, knowing he'd actually won a round for once. _'And it's Basara for the win,'_ he couldn't help thinking. _'First damn time for everything.'_

With a resigned sigh, Booth agreed to change the subject, telling Naji everything he had learned from Edon. As quickly as possible, he gave him all the details about the club where Edon had sold Brennan - a club that was little more than a front for the underground sex operation it housed - and then launched into Edon's explanation of how and why he had sold her.

Naji's eyes widened slightly as he listened to the outrageous tale, and then narrowed as he heard Edon's reasons for having sold her. Again, he felt his own surge of anger at a man who could so casually ruin lives to save his own skin; and Edon had almost destroyed two. Naji no longer had any doubt that if they were unsuccessful in locating Dr. Brennan, Booth would never be the same.

When Booth finished, Naji shook his head disbelievingly. "All right. So now you've really gotta tell me - how _did_ you kill the little prick? Add as many details as you like."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Booth was beginning to hate this topic more with each word.

"Because," Naji snorted overdramatically, "It will just make me very happy."

Booth sighed. "Just get there as fast as you can and find her, Noj. I won't be far behind you. Let me know the second you know anything."

ooo . ooo . ooo

After disconnecting the call before Naji could ask any more questions, Booth had to struggle with the urge to throw the phone across the car. Instead, he settled for viciously slamming his foot down on the accelerator as he sped a little faster toward Vlore.

Never in his life had he wanted to kill somebody like he had wanted to kill Edon. The rage that had filled him when he realized Edon had _sold_ Bones - sold her to save his own worthless neck from problems of his own creation - had been all consuming. In that moment, every tactic he'd ever learned for causing pain had flashed through his mind, along with the very satisfying thought of inflicting them all on Edon Tolka. He had barely restrained himself enough to extract the rest of the information he needed, and by that time an all too tempting thought had occurred to him.

It was of no small irony to Booth that Edon's problems had been brought on by gambling. During his own days of being controlled by a gambling addiction, he had at times believed that there was no lower a man could go. He now knew differently - never even in his darkest hours could he have contemplated _selling_ another human being to pay his own debts. Edon had crossed the line from harming his own self to being willing to physically harm others to feed his addiction. Booth also knew that from that point, there was very little going back. Edon would have continued to be a cancer to society and a danger to every woman whose path he crossed.

And so, he could easily justify killing him - had practically been able to imagine the feel of Edon's throat between his fingers as he took his last breath. For what this man had done to Bones, he could have done it without pity. But he had not done so, for two reasons.

First, Edon's sole purpose in kidnapping and selling Bones had been to save himself from the bookies - the one thing that actually seemed to scare him. And Booth had _wanted_ Edon to be scared - very fucking scared. The thought of turning him over to them - thereby letting him _know_ that he had only signed his own death warrant when he took Bones - and giving the bookies a little quality time with him while Edon sweated it out had been extremely tempting. Not to mention, they could take their time with it in a way that Booth simply didn't have time for…

Had that been the only consideration, however, Booth knew he would have still killed Edon himself, with his own two bare hands. Nothing could have been more satisfying than that.

But then he had imagined the face of his partner. He imagined the look on her face every time he had to kill someone in the line of duty: one of sympathy and understanding. He remembered her voice telling him how sorry she was that he had to kill, and how much she knew he hated it. She only knew that he hated to kill in general. How could she possibly know that killing a man like Tolka, in her defense, could only improve his cosmic balance sheet?

What had stopped him from delivering a fatal blow to Edon with his own hands was the thought of that look on her face - and the gut wrenching idea that if he did it, _she_ might feel responsible for it. If exacting the revenge he so desperately desired could cause her even a moment's pain or guilt, he was helpless to go through with it. That was part of the reason why he refused to ever give her a gun, though he was reluctant to admit it out loud. Even though he had not been able to prevent it from _ever_ happening, he desperately wanted to protect her from feeling the responsibility of taking any more lives. That was a burden that tore at his soul, but one he would gladly shoulder to keep it off of her.

But that still didn't mean he wanted to talk about it with Naji. Naji's implication that he should have killed Edon bothered him, if only because a huge part of him felt the same way. Still trying to push thoughts of Edon Tolka from his mind, Booth sped along down the road toward Vlore, rapidly closing the distance between himself and his partner.

ooo . ooo . ooo

When Naji pulled up in front of the exclusive nightclub Edon had described to Booth, he took his time. He hadn't paid cash and bought the fanciest car Albania had to offer for nothing, and he wanted to make sure he attracted plenty of attention. After he was sure the bouncers at the door had received an eyeful of his flashy car, he stepped from it and leaned against the door, casually lighting one of the fancy cigars and appearing to carry on a nonchalant conversation on his cell phone.

When one of the bouncers had stepped inside momentarily, only to return with a sharply dressed man who peered out the door at him and watched him for a moment, Naji knew he was starting to get somewhere. Taking a deep breath, he pocketed the cell phone and began striding confidently toward the door. He was fairly certain he would be searched, and so all of his weapons were safely stored in the trunk of the vehicle. He was going to have to rely on charm and lots of money rather than firepower this time, but he was pretty good with all three. The firepower would just have to wait until he found out for sure where Dr. Brennan was.

The three men at the door eyed him suspiciously, but their suspicion quickly turned to appreciation when he pulled out a fat money clip and started peeling off big bills. The sight of all that money combined with a smile and some conversational small talk in Albanian, and he knew he had them. A quick pat down followed, and he was granted access. Getting in had been easy. Now for the hard part.

Sitting down at the bar and ordering himself a drink, he caught no small amount of attention as he once again flourished the fat money clip. Just for good measure, he pulled out another of the nice cigars, making a show of lighting it up and enjoying it. That being done, he began to surreptitiously observe his surroundings. Other than a few stage dancers with obvious track marks on their arms from drug usage, the club at first glance appeared to be like any other bar and nightclub. But as Naji continued to observe, he had no problem picking out exactly who the men in charge were.

A door near the back of the club had immediately caught his interest, and that interest intensified when a rather scruffy looking but large man walked through the door. His attire was completely incongruent with the fancy suits worn by the men Naji had picked out as the bosses, and he didn't miss the flash of the gun on the man's hip. He strode directly toward the man Naji had figured as the probable top guy, and whispered something in the man's ear. The man had instantly risen from his seat and followed him back through the door.

Not even 10 minutes later, the man had returned, taking up a place at the bar where he could keep an eye on everything happening. That was all the cue that Naji needed. He stepped away and made his way to the restroom, returning a few moments later and taking a seat at the bar near the man he had seen. He ordered himself another drink, making sure that this man in particular saw the wad of cash he was sporting. Money, after all, could get you in anywhere. As he nursed the drink, he pretended to look past the man at a couple of the ornamental dancers planted on small stages at various points around the club. In reality, he was staring a hole through the side of the man's head.

Human nature eventually prevailed, and the sharply dressed boss could not help but turn in the direction of the eyes he felt trained on him. Naji had quickly flicked his eyes away when he saw the man start to turn, but when the man looked straight at him Naji acted as though he had just noticed him. With a friendly smile, Naji gestured with his drink toward the dancers and spoke in Albanian. "Here's to beautiful women, eh?"

The sight of this man of Arabic descent - dressed to the nines with a fat wad of cash and now speaking flawless Albanian - had begun to intrigue the man. Especially the wad of cash. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but he maintained eye contact with Naji as he finally acknowledged him. "There are many to be found in this country. Might that be what you came here looking for?"

The door now opened to him, Naji began to lay his trap. "I represent a businessman who might be interested. He had heard that you might be able to help in procuring certain…shall we say, saleable goods. I'm here to find out if that's true."

Naji knew he had the man's interest. Having dangled the carrot of someone even richer and more powerful than he was pretending to be, he knew this man would bite.

"Oh? And who might that be?"

The irreverent grin that was Naji's trademark crossed his face again as he quipped, "Let's just say the man who pays the bills - all of the bills."

Almost an hour of conversation later, Naji had learned that there was to be an auction conducted in the wee hours of the morning, beginning in only eight hours. Knowing that the auction itself would be way too risky to attempt a rescue, he began to pull the trap together. Feigning disappointment, he rose as though to leave, still speaking in perfect Albanian. "That is unfortunate. My boss's yacht sails from the Bay of Vlore in seven hours' time. He had hoped to conduct more immediate business with you. Perhaps next time. I shall seek other arrangements."

Greed could always be counted upon. The man was quick to stop him with a restraining hand on his arm, not willing to let the possibility of a new, high paying customer elude him so easily.

"Please…what is your hurry? Other arrangements are always a possibility for a well paying customer."

Naji shook his head, as though reluctant. "The boss is pretty particular in his interests. He prefers American only, of certain physical characteristics. He is willing to pay very handsomely, but I should need to inspect the merchandise personally to…verify quality. As I stated, he pays quite handsomely, and it is in _my_ best interests also to ensure his satisfaction."

He could practically see the wheels turning in the man's head, trying to determine how to make the most money off of him. "I cannot release any of the merchandise except through auction. That is not within my power. However, assuming that we can agree upon a price and a particular piece of merchandise, perhaps you and I could work something out that would satisfy your boss - a private demonstration of one of the auction pieces before auction, perhaps, if he is willing to come here for such a demonstration?"

Clearly, the man intended to pocket the payment for that particular arrangement for himself. Naji smiled at him conspiratorially. "If it would not trouble you to do so."

The man strode quickly to a phone behind the bar, and spoke into it. He kept his voice low, but Naji was able to pick out enough to understand that he was giving instructions, and he did catch the word "American." The man returned, gesturing for Naji to follow him as he led him through the door in the back of the club - the same one Naji had seen the armed man emerge from earlier.

ooo

Brennan had expected several hours to pass before anyone returned for her, just as had happened with her former bed companion. She was surprised when only a short time passed before she heard footsteps approaching again. Having hoped to have a little more time to regain strength and recover from her withdrawal symptoms, her breathing quickened when she realized the steps were coming straight toward her.

Moments later, the curtain was thrown back, and the armed man with the keys unlocked her and removed her from the bed. He steadied her on the heels that had begun to hurt her feet quite badly, and led her from the room. She kept up the façade of being in a daze, allowing him to lead her.

This time they took a different path, and she was soon led into a room she had not seen before. Two other women in similar attire as herself were already standing there, one behind the other, and she was roughly shoved to stand behind them. Her captor joined two other armed thugs standing against the wall, keeping watch over them. This had not been what she had expected, and she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears as she waited to see what would happen.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Naji followed the sharply dressed man through a maze of hallways and doors. The man finally opened one and ushered Naji into an empty room, indicating that he should wait there. He closed the door behind him, and Naji heard the lock click. Just as he began to become concerned that his cover had been blown, the door opened again. Apologizing for making him wait, the man assured him that the delay had been in gathering the best of the American women for him to choose from for his boss.

Naji followed him from the room. Two doors down, the man stopped again, pushing open yet another door and indicating for Naji to enter.

ooo . ooo . ooo

After what seemed like endless moments of waiting, the door to the room Brennan was in opened once more. She held her breath, her fingers skimming the shard of glass at the back of her leg as she tried to remain calm. Another girl dressed the same way as Brennan was led into the room and pushed to stand in the very front of the line, and Brennan shook as she let out a shaky breath.

She did not get long to recover from the false alarm. Less than a minute later, the door opened and two men entered. A mirror hung on the wall on one side of the room, and by turning her head to the side she could see them in it despite her obscured view from her place in the back of the lineup. Both were dressed in expensive suits. Trying not to be noticed, she studied their features. One appeared to be Albanian, the other of Arabic descent.

Adrenaline flooded her as she watched the Arabic man walk closer, his eyes flicking over each girl in turn as he made his way down the line. She concluded quickly that this must be the sale she had been expecting, though this was not exactly the way she had expected it to take place. Clearly the Arabic man was a buyer, though she thought it strange that his eyes never seemed to drop below any of the girls' faces. She dropped her eyes as he came to the end of the line and turned his attention toward her, not wanting to give away the fact that she was clear headed and undrugged. As he drew closer and stopped suddenly, she allowed her fingers to slowly begin sliding the piece of glass from its home on the back of her leg.

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

When Naji walked into the room, the first thing he noticed were the three armed men standing by the wall. The second thing he noticed was the four scantily clad women standing in a line in the middle of the room. They were standing single file, one behind the other, so he could only see the face of the first woman in line. Not wanting to appear too anxious, he calmed his racing heartbeat as he stepped toward the closest one to him, eyes flicking over her face and noting instantly that she was not who he was looking for.

He thanked every deity he had ever heard of that it was he in this room and not Booth. One look at the outfits they had shoved these poor girls into, and Booth would come unglued. As it was, Naji was glad he didn't have his own gun. There would be time for that later, but he could not suppress the sick feeling at the obvious inhumanity of what was occurring here. He had seen many things in his career, but he felt that few people deserved bullets so much as the men behind this.

He continued to each girl in turn, his stomach dropping more as he studied each one. If Dr. Brennan wasn't there, he had no clear thought in mind of how to proceed.

When he came to the last woman in line, he froze momentarily, his already racing heart pumping a little faster.

He had found her.

oo . ooo . ooo

When he first recognized Dr. Brennan, Naji froze in place for just a split second. The other three women in the room were obviously drugged and docile, and at first glance he believed her to be as well. But then he looked closely at her downcast eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. Even looking away from him, he could see that her ice blue eyes were clear and lucid, focused intentionally downward rather than staring absently. In that moment, he was certain of it - she was not in a drugged daze; she was faking it. Impossibly, his heart rate seemed to quicken even a little more, as he realized that this could be either a very good thing or a very bad thing.

Naji's trained eye did not miss the tension in her body, like a spring wound too tightly. Years of long experience had taught him to recognize even the most subtle signs of aggression, and he sensed instinctively that she was preparing to attack. His eye tracked a small movement at her side, and his body tensed automatically when he saw the shard of glass she was oh-so-slowly pulling from behind her to the side of her leg.

He felt a rush of admiration at her spirit - wondering how the hell she had pulled _this_ off - but he knew he had to stop her. There were three armed guards in the room, along with the sharply dressed man who considered her nothing more than property to be sold. If she were to attack, Naji would lose any advantage he had, and she would be killed before he could do anything about it.

Naji took a step back, hoping that one small movement would be enough to discourage her from attacking and draw her eyes to his face. Training his eyes on her, he willed her to meet them with her own.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Her heartbeat pounding in her ears and her hands shaking, Brennan prepared herself to attack. As she shakily inhaled a deep breath and coiled her muscles to lunge, she focused her eyes directly on the man she believed was there to buy her. It was an irrational, primal instinct, but she was determined to look into the eyes of the man she was about to kill.

So taken aback was she to discover that he was already meeting her eyes, it caused her to hesitate just long enough to take a second look at him. And what she saw in his eyes froze her in place in that crucial moment. This man was not appraising her body in the leering, filthy way she had expected. In fact, his eyes were glued to her own, filled with intensity. His eyes bored deeply into hers, searching them, and for just a moment she had the impression that he was trying to communicate with her.

She had never been good with reading people - but Booth had taught her so much. Four years before, if someone had tried to make her believe for even a moment that you could learn anything about a person's character just from looking at their eyes, she would have ridiculed them mercilessly - in a strictly academic way, of course, but merciless ridicule nonetheless. But that was before Booth, and before she had learned to trust what she saw in his warm and reassuring brown eyes.

The different set of dark brown eyes staring back at her now were unfamiliar, but they were not the eyes she would equate with a coldblooded rapist. In fact, she thought she saw a few things she recognized there: warmth, compassion, kindness.

Without realizing it, she had clutched the shard of glass more tightly in her fingers, and a stab of pain in her hand broke her reverie. Mentally berating herself for her moment of indecision, she strengthened her resolve and prepared herself again to lunge. She had to. Giving up her one chance based on an emotional reaction was not an option. Now was not the time to risk her life on her admittedly weak skills at reading people.

A very slight movement of the man's hand by his side - the hand farthest from her captors - caught her eye. It was so slight as to be nearly imperceptible to the other men in the room whom it almost seemed he had positioned himself to block her from; but without moving his hand from its place by his side he had stretched out all five fingers and turned his palm outward toward her, a gesture she recognized as _'wait.'_ She met his eyes again, and this time she was almost certain he was trying to tell her something.

And so in that moment she hesitated again, her breath frozen in her throat, her fingers twitching against the glass shard. This man had seen through her façade and had known she was about to attack - and he had not given her away.

Slowly, she pulled the shard back behind her leg, hiding it from view as she waited to see what the man would do. Booth might have called it trusting her gut. But to Brennan, it was worse than irrational - you don't gamble your entire _life_ based on a gut feeling. She wondered absurdly if she had developed Stockholm syndrome, and was now ascribing benevolent intentions to her captors. One glance at the armed men by the wall, however, and she had to suppress a shudder. No, she believed no good intentions of them - only this man, it seemed. Turning her eyes back to him, she waited. He had 10 seconds to convince her.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Almost casually, Naji stuck one hand in his pants pocket as he turned and walked back towards the sharply dressed man. His questing fingers instantly found his own cell phone. Keeping it in his pocket, his fingers skimmed over the keypad until he located the speed dial button he had programmed for Brennan's phone.

Moments later, the sound of a ringing phone filled the room. Naji had spied the mirror on the side wall of the room - the one through which she had watched him when he entered and was watching him now - and he surreptitiously gauged her reaction in it. Yes, the slight flinch told him that she recognized the ring tone of her phone. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed her cell phone and "answered" it. He could see that she recognized her phone, but he knew that wouldn't be enough - she would be quick to rationalize that thousands of people undoubtedly had the same kind.

Speaking in English, he pretended to carry on a business conversation. As though focused on his conversation, he casually walked a few steps sideways away from the men, bringing himself to where he could see her face directly rather than through the mirror. When he knew he had her full attention, he spoke into the phone again with his eyes glued right on her: "The project name is Paladin."

Blue eyes locked with brown, her mouth falling open slightly. Naji nodded reassuringly, keeping his gaze locked on her as he pretended to answer the imaginary voice on the other end of the phone. "Yes, you heard me correctly - Paladin. The project will commence tonight, when reinforcements arrive. Be ready."

With that, he turned off the phone and turned his back on her, making his way back to the sharply dressed man. Gesturing in her direction, Naji carried on a conversation in Albanian that Brennan could not understand. A large amount of money changed hands, followed by a handshake. Without ever glancing in her direction again, Naji followed the sharply dressed Albanian man out of the room, leaving Brennan to wonder if she had understood correctly or if she had squandered her one chance for escape.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Naji's hands shook as he reached his car, a reaction he was most certainly not used to. She had recognized Booth's code word. Of that he was certain. But it had still been close - too damn close. He would not have wanted to explain to Booth that he had found his girl alive and unharmed, only to watch her die moments later because she had attacked him…and especially not that said girl had attacked him wearing skimpy lingerie, thinking he was there to buy her and force her to do unspeakable things. The whole idea was just _wrong_.

He was also a little concerned about the arrangement he had set up. He had led the man inside to believe that he worked for a powerful, rich American businessman. That had worked quite nicely for his purposes at the time. But now that rich American businessman was going to have to show up for a "private demonstration", from which they were somehow going to have to pull off a rescue.

Unarmed.

 _"Shit."_

Dragging Booth in there to play the part of the rich American businessman - and watching him try to keep his cool when he saw her - was going to be problematic at best.

Though Naji had carefully kept his eyes on Brennan's face for the majority of the time he was there, he had taken a quick inventory of any injuries. The bruises on her arms were still plain to see, as was the dark bruise on her cheek that makeup had been unable to fully cover. Perhaps the worst injury he had seen, though, was to her wrists. Still marred by the ropes Edon had tied around them, the untreated rope burns and chafing were bad enough. But one wrist had been so red and painfully raw that he felt sure she had also been handcuffed at some point afterward, probably for a long period of time. He knew how painful that had to be; knew it from personal experience he would rather forget.

Naji was usually a very cool, calm, in control type of person, albeit with a fantastic sense of humor. Not very much could rattle him. In his line of work, he had to be that way. But turning around and walking out that door, leaving his best friend's girl in the hands of those bastards, had been one of the hardest things he had ever done.

He tried to ignore the fact that his hands were still shaking when he pulled out his phone to call Booth. If ever there had been a good news/bad news situation, this was going to be it.

ooo . ooo . ooo

When his cell phone rang, Booth's heart felt like it jumped in his chest and automatically started to pound a little harder. Since he had arrived in Vlore - in record time - he had started to dial Naji's number no less than 15 times, never completing it. Anxious though he was for information, he did not want to compromise Naji in any way if he were in the midst of a rescue attempt. At the same time, the suspense of wondering what was going on was quite actually killing him.

He had quickly located the nightclub Edon had told him about, and had driven past it several times. It had only taken one pass to notice the flashy red sports car in the parking lot. There was not a single doubt in Booth's mind who _that_ belonged to - it just _looked_ like something the ostentatious bastard would pick out. That meant Naji was there, but Booth had no idea of what he had planned. Naji had said to trust him, and Booth had been too preoccupied with Edon at the time to ask questions. For now, he was just going to have to wait, as badly as he hated it. Not wanting to raise suspicion, Booth had finally driven a few blocks away and found a deserted place to park and wait.

As desperate as he had been for information, now that his phone was ringing he was filled with a sense of dread. This was their only lead. What if Naji hadn't found her? What if he _had_ found her, and the bastards had already forced her to…

Booth swallowed hard and closed his eyes as he accepted the call - _'Why are your eyes closed?'_ Instantly, her amused voice filled his mind, memories of the Gormagon vault flooding him - his body atop hers, willing to sacrifice his own life if need be for her safety. He could almost _feel_ her there beneath him again, her breath whispering across his face. _'I'm just curious…how would shutting your eyes help?'_

If he could still sense her so keenly, it must mean she was alive. If she were already gone, he knew without question in that moment that he would feel it. Blowing out a shaky breath, he allowed his mind to answer as he had in the vault. _'It just does. Okay, Bones? It just does.'_ And it did help, not least of all because when he closed his eyes he could _see_ her, unharmed and safe right in front of him.

"Seeley?" Naji's voice came through the phone, sounding just slightly out of breath, and Booth realized he had not yet said anything.

"Yeah, Naji, I'm here." He didn't ask - _couldn't_ ask - and so he just waited, his eyes still closed.

"I found her."

ooo . ooo . ooo

Moments after Naji had left her, Brennan looked on apprehensively as the sharply dressed Albanian man returned and carried on a conversation with the armed men in the room, gesturing in her direction and clearly giving instructions. Blind terror filled her when the man who had brought her into the room strode purposefully toward her once again. He grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the door. With no clear plan in her mind any longer, the fear seemed to overtake her more easily.

The armed men were pulling the other women out of the room behind her, taking the path that led back to the bed she had come from. But Brennan soon found herself being pulled in the opposite direction, away from them. She was led through yet another maze of turns and hallways, stumbling on the high heels, before being pushed into a room much different than any she had yet seen.

The room was ornately decorated, with plush red carpet and a large four-poster bed in the middle of the back wall. An elegant chandelier hung from the ceiling. The only item that seemed out of place was the long chain attached to a ring bolted in the middle of the floor, and the cuff on the end of it. A sick feeling filled her as she was pushed in the direction of the cuff. There was no doubt in her mind what _this_ room was used for.

The man grabbed the cuff and locked it around her ankle before leaving and locking the door behind him. As he did so, Brennan felt the hot tears begin to rise in her eyes. Frustration filled her as she berated herself for not fighting him before he could chain her. But the Arabic man's voice saying the word "Paladin" still rung in her ears, and it had flooded her with indecision. If it meant Booth was on his way, fighting now could be the worst decision she could make.

But as soon as the man was gone, Brennan could no longer resist her growing panic and self-doubt. Clearly, she must have misunderstood what had happened in the other room. So desperate was she for Booth to find her, she had made herself believe the Arabic man was there to help her - had taken his coincidental use of the word "Paladin" and given up her chance to attack based on it.

And yet…she could not forget the way the man had silently communicated with her, and his use of a cell phone _exactly like_ hers. He had looked her straight in the eye when he said a word that only Booth would tell someone to say to her. That couldn't be coincidence, could it? And he had mentioned reinforcements arriving. Could that mean…

But on the other side of the equation, the Arabic man had then pointed her out to the well-dressed Albanian man, and a large amount of money had changed hands. The rich nature of the room in which she was now held - not to mention the bed - spoke of a very sinister theme to that transaction. How else could it be interpreted, other than an extremely rich man having paid for time with her, a man who would soon be entering this richly decorated room intent on collecting?

The feeling of being trapped suddenly overwhelmed her. In her panic, she completely forgot about keeping up any pretense of being drugged. Dropping to her knee, she pulled frantically at the cuff around her ankle. Desperation had taken over, and realizing that she could do nothing about the cuff, she pulled as hard as she could at the ring in the floor. It never budged. The chain was long enough to allow her to move freely almost anywhere in the room, but it pulled her up just short of the door. Leaning over and reaching forward, she grasped futilely for the door handle, but her fingertips missed by inches.

Feeling herself begin to hyperventilate, some small rational part of her realized that she had to calm down. Unwilling to sit on the bed - the very idea made her shudder - she walked as far from it as the chain would allow and sank to the floor. Wrapping her arms around her knees and drawing them to her chest, she could only sit and wait, not even knowing what it was she was waiting _for._

Not even once had she noticed the two cameras in the ceiling, through which her every move could be seen.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Booth felt like his heart nearly exploded at Naji's three simple words. A thousand questions filled his mind, but his tongue could not force any of them out. So he sat silently, waiting for Naji to continue.

"I couldn't get her out, but I know where to find her. She's alive, Seeley, and…generally unharmed."

At that hesitation, Booth's tongue remembered how to form words. "Generally?" He could hear the fear in his own voice, and hated it.

Naji heard it too. He cringed at the unspoken part of Booth's question, belatedly realizing that was the first question he should have answered. "No, no, no… God no, I didn't mean _that_. I don't think anybody has touched her yet, and she's not nearly as drugged as they think she is. It looks like the worst of it is what Edon did to her before he sold her. Her wrists look pretty bad." Naji knew that if the professional bastards had done anything to harm her, they would be smart enough not to leave marks on the merchandise. But he sure as hell wasn't going to mention that to Booth.

Booth took a deep breath. "Tell me everything, Naji. Don't leave one goddamn thing out."

Naji blinked, halfway wondering for a moment if Booth had heard his thoughts. He told him about the auction that Brennan was scheduled to be a part of in just a few more hours, and how he had convinced the man in charge to give his rich 'boss' a private 'demonstration' before auction.

Knowing he could no longer afford to keep anything back, Naji decided to put everything out on the table. "There's a few more things you should know, Seeley. We're going to have to go in unarmed. I was searched at the door, and I doubt these bastards have become any more trusting in the last two hours. We can't just blast our way in and go looking for her. That place is a maze, and there's no way of knowing where she's being held."

Booth had not yet said anything, so Naji continued. "The next thing you need to know is that they wouldn't let me buy her outright. They still plan to auction her off a few hours from now, and that situation is just too risky. Buying an hour of her time for you beforehand was the best I could do, but it will get you in the same room with her. From there, I can try to cause a distraction on my end, but you're going to be alone with her and you're going to have to get her out. You'll have to go hands-on with any thugs you run into, and the bad news is they're all armed."

Booth's voice was tight, and Naji could discern nothing from his tone. "Anything else I should know?"

Naji hesitated, but knew it would be better to tell Booth the next part himself rather than having him be surprised when he saw her. "Yeah, there's…one other thing." For a man that spoke so many languages, Naji couldn't think of the right way to phrase what he had to say in any of them. _'How exactly do you tell your best friend that professional sex trade operators are parading the woman he loves around in the world's skimpiest lingerie, and oh-by-the-way I didn't look but I've now seen more of her body than you have? Pretty sure there's not a Hallmark card for that.'_

Naji cleared his throat a little nervously. "Uh, when you see her…they've, um…well they definitely changed her clothes and made her look like…" he stammered, before mentally smacking himself and steadying his voice. "Listen, I wouldn't even mention it, but I just thought it'd be good for you to know - you know, before you get there and…"

Booth cut him off quietly, surprising him. "I got it. Thanks for letting me know."

Naji had been driving as they were talking, and he then saw Booth's car parked on the side of the road. When he pulled in behind him, Booth disconnected the phone. Grabbing his own supplies from his car, he joined Naji in the new sports car. "Nice wheels. How much you pay for this?"

Naji cocked his head to one side, ignoring the bitter tone to that question. "I don't suppose you'd believe they gave it to me on my good looks?"

" _Hell_ no."

Naji just shrugged. "Come on. We have less than an hour to turn you into a rich powerful businessman. I'm not even sure _I'm_ that good."

Booth's mouth had turned into a small, grim line, and he looked like he wanted to hit something. "I spent most of my money - well, Hodgins' money - on supplies in Lisbon," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"I've got it covered." Naji tried to be as nonchalant as possible about it. When Booth didn't speak for a few minutes, Naji spoke again. "Look, don't worry about it. You know, it's okay to need help sometimes."

A sound halfway between a snort and a humorless chuckle escaped Booth's lips before he could stop it. At Naji's questioning glance, Booth shook his head. "It's nothing. That's just usually my line."

Naji was nodding knowingly. "Yeah. Your girl's pretty independent, huh?" It wasn't really a question.

A half smile ghosted across Booth's features. "You have no idea, Noj. You have no idea."

An answering smile passed across Naji's face. He didn't say anything, but after just a few minutes in a room with Temperance Brennan he thought that just maybe he _did_ have some idea about that after all.

ooo . ooo . ooo

A little over an hour later Booth found himself stepping out of the little red sports car in front of the nightclub, dressed in a suit even nicer than the one Naji was wearing. Naji had purchased it for him in Tirana at the same time he purchased his own, and Booth had to admit he had good taste. An expensive silk tie, the nicest dress shoes money could buy, and diamond cufflinks completed the ensemble. Into his pockets went his cell phone and a fat wad of cash, held in a money clip for the bouncers to find when they searched him. He had not been happy about that last part, but Naji had insisted it would lend authenticity and could come in handy if they were separated. Booth looked every bit the rich, powerful businessman he would have to convincingly portray to carry out their plan.

Every sense was on full alert as he and Naji approached the doors, Naji a step behind him. Booth placed a confident swagger into his step, which to the casual observer would appear to be completely natural. Only he and perhaps Naji were aware of his racing heartbeat and the nervous energy that tensed his frame. He had gone undercover many times, but never had it been more important.

The bouncers were obviously expecting them, having been notified of their impending arrival; Booth was thankful Naji had talked him out of trying to smuggle in _any_ kind of tool or weapon when those bouncers carefully searched every pocket before granting them entrance. Naji relaxed somewhat once they were in the door, but Booth only felt his heartbeat quicken as they entered the club and his eyes adjusted to the slightly dark, smoky atmosphere. With a skilled eye, Booth observed his surroundings, noting the dancers and patrons, and quickly identifying the men who were most likely part of the underground business of the club. Around the bar, several well-dressed men were already beginning to gather, no doubt patrons of the upcoming auction a few hours away. His eyes instantly found the closed, locked door in the back, knowing it must be the door that would ultimately lead him to where he could find his partner.

As it turned out, Naji's concern about how Booth would handle himself in this situation proved to be unfounded. Cool and calm - at least outwardly - Booth strode confidently toward the bar, taking a seat and gesturing for Naji to take a seat next to him, as though he owned the place. He leaned back casually against the bar, appearing to appreciate the gyrations of the dancers on stage. Relieved, Naji fell into his own role of assistant, summoning the bartender and ordering a drink for his 'boss.'

It was not long before the door to the back opened and Naji once again saw the sharply dressed Albanian man with whom he had made the deal. Naji straightened, raising his hand and signaling to the man, who spotted them and began to make his way toward them, stopping along the way to shake hands and schmooze with some of the other well-dressed men around the bar - no doubt some of his highest paying auction customers.

When he arrived in front of Booth and Naji, a conversation in Albanian took place. Naji introduced Booth as his boss, though Booth did not understand a word that was being said. Booth had already guessed who he was, however. When the Albanian man nodded politely and extended his hand toward him, it took every ounce of control Booth could muster to keep himself from crushing the man's hand in his grip and then ripping him in half barehanded. Instead, he casually shook the man's hand, his demeanor aloof and dismissive as he had observed in some of the other powerful men around the bar.

The man was walking away then, gesturing for the two of them to follow. Neither were surprised when he led them directly to the door in the back of the club, unlocking it and holding it for them to pass. As they walked through, Booth was hit with the realization of just how close he was to seeing Bones again, and just how dangerous getting her out of there was going to be. It hit him in the chest like a physical blow, almost knocking the breath from him with the weight of his responsibility to get her out of this nightmarish labyrinth safely.

ooo . ooo . ooo

A few moments later, Booth and Naji were led into another room. This time, Naji was instantly uncomfortable as he took in their surroundings. He was not sure exactly what he had been expecting, but this room was definitely not it. His every instinct was screaming at him that something was not right. He desperately wished he could communicate that to Booth, who would have no way of knowing anything was wrong. For all Booth knew, this was exactly the same room Naji had been taken to on his previous visit. But without knowing for sure if the Albanian man understood English or not, it would be too risky for Naji to voice his concerns to Booth.

The room appeared to be some type of multimedia center, with dozens of small monitors and keyboards. Upon further inspection, Naji concluded that this room must be the center of their security operation, which only served to heighten his alarm. Some of the monitors showed scenes from inside the bar and nightclub area. Others seemed to be focused on various hallways and passages, and still others on ornate bedrooms, all of which were empty. Most disturbing to Naji, one monitor - right in the middle of the group of monitors that were focused on bedrooms - was conspicuously turned off, something he doubted was a coincidence.

Chancing a glance in Booth's direction, he could see the questioning look on Booth's face, but he did not dare risk communicating with him about it. The sharply dressed Albanian man had not yet spoken, and appeared to be observing them both closely, his expression unreadable. Almost immediately the door opened and two armed men stepped in, closing the door behind them. When they took up positions in front of the closed door, effectively blocking Booth and Naji's exit, there was no longer any question that something had gone horribly wrong.

Even Naji almost jumped when Booth's voice rang out. "What is the meaning of this?" Booth demanded to know, his tone authoritative as he waved a disbelieving hand in the direction of the armed guards. Once again, Naji realized that he never should have worried about Booth playing his role perfectly - it didn't appear that there was very much he could _not_ do for his lady partner. Even if the Albanian man couldn't understand the English words, Booth's tone was the perfect mix of condescending superiority and wealthy sense of entitlement that the man was sure to expect from his spoiled clients.

The man had hesitated briefly at Booth's tone, almost as though second guessing what he intended to do. In the next moment, however, he turned to Naji, speaking to him in Albanian. "Since we last met, certain new developments have been brought to my attention." He appeared to be studying Naji's face for clues, but Naji's face was calm and stoic, giving nothing away despite his growing uneasiness.

"Sir, this man's time is of great importance. Do we have an arrangement, or don't we," Naji asked, allowing some irritation to creep into his voice. He was aware of Booth's eyes on his face wanting to know what was being said, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Again, the man seemed to hesitate before carefully continuing on. "It has come to my attention that quite a large disturbance has occurred at one of my warehousing operations within the last 12 hours."

Naji never even blinked. "And? What could that possibly have to do with _our_ arrangement? Your business difficulties are of no concern to my employer."

The man reached into his coat pocket, and Naji could sense Booth tensing behind him, prepared to spring into action along with him if the man drew a weapon. Instead, he pulled out something that suddenly seemed to Naji to be much worse.

The man coolly held up a videotape. "That is the question I would like answered as well - what _does_ this have to do with our arrangement?" Without waiting for an answer, the man walked to a blank monitor - not the same blank one Naji had originally noted - and popped in the videotape. No other sound permeated the silence other than the click of the videotape settling itself inside the machine. Booth could hear his own breathing as he observed, knowing something important was happening and wishing he could understand what was being said.

Conversationally, the sharply dressed Albanian man continued speaking as he hit a button on the keyboard in front of the monitor. "All of my warehousing operations have security cameras atop the buildings, most focused on the front door. It allows me to keep inventory of how many men enter, so that I can be sure my employees are trustworthy. Because of the cameras, I know exactly how much money should be turned in each night."

Rather than video, a succession of still images were flashing across the monitor in full color. "This particular camera is set to record a color image of the front entrance every three seconds. There are two images in particular that I believe you and your employer might find particularly interesting."

With the tap of a button, an image was brought up. At the entrance to the warehouse, the back of two mens' heads and torsos could be seen entering past the money taker at the door. Both Booth and Naji recognized themselves instantly, more due to the clothing they had been wearing than anything else. Their faces were not visible. Booth's head was turned slightly to the side in the picture, allowing only the slightest glimpse of his profile, though not enough to positively identify him. The man was watching their reactions closely, but neither gave anything away.

The man allowed the picture to sink in for a moment. "I think you might notice there are some definite similarities to yourself and your employer in height, build and hairstyles?"

Still unable to understand the Albanian words but clearly understanding the meaning of the conversation, Booth still managed to play his part perfectly. Gesturing impatiently, he made a show of looking at his watch with a loud sigh, as though the pictures had no possible meaning to him. The Albanian man seemed to hesitate again. It was evident that he was suspicious, but he did not want to lose his sale if he were wrong.

A tap of the button, and another image was brought up. Again, the image was of the front door. Only this time, there was a face clearly visible in the picture. The face of the young woman that Naji was carrying was staring straight up at the camera from where her head lay cradled against his arm, her unmistakably auburn hair flowing down behind her. Booth, who had preceded them out the door, was not visible in the picture. To both of their great relief, Naji's face was once again obscured, this time because he had turned to look over his shoulder as he escaped out the front door.

The man was once again speaking conversationally as Booth and Naji stood calmly, both trying to control their racing heartbeats. "While the similarities to the two of you may be somewhat inconclusive, I think you might agree that the resemblance of my kidnapped prostitute to the young woman you chose for your boss is unquestionable, no? You did, after all, mention that your employer has a preference for certain physical characteristics, did you not?"

Naji kept his voice calm. "While this look into your day to day security operations has been quite fascinating, I quite resent the implication that my employer should be involved in such an unsavory prospect as the kidnapping of a common prostitute. However, as we did have an arrangement, if there are no further issues he should like to conduct his business as quickly as possible. He has a pressing engagement aboard his yacht in two hours. Otherwise, I shall require a full refund of your advance."

The man studied him coolly. "Very well." He nodded in the direction of one of the guards, and both stepped away from in front of the door. One of them gestured for Booth to follow, which he did without hesitation, resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder at Naji for any clue as to what was happening.

But when Naji made as though to follow them, the other guard stepped in front of him. "No, my friend," the Albanian man in charge rebuked him as the door closed behind Booth and the man leading him away. "It will be acceptable for you to remain right here. I have arranged some further entertainment for you. We shall see if you and your boss are who you say you are. We shall soon see."

It was no surprise to Naji when the man stepped over to the blank monitor he had originally noticed. He had held his own opinion of what that particular monitor would show, almost since the moment he saw it. Hoping that he was wrong, Naji held his breath as he watched an image pop up on the screen, resisting the urge to swear out loud when the picture came into focus. He had been correct. There, in the middle of an ornate bedroom, sat Dr. Brennan on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest. Naji flinched when he saw the heavy steel clamped around her ankle and the chain that connected it to the floor. That was not something they had prepared for...the bouncers at the door would have definitely noticed a lock-picking set, he thought wryly as he studied Brennan. Her head was up, her eyes clear and lucid - if somewhat frightened - as they studied her surroundings.

The Albanian man was tapping keys on another monitor. Wordlessly, he pointed to the screen, and Naji watched a video playback of Brennan's panicked escape attempt from immediately after she had been left in the room. Naji turned his eyes toward him, raising an eyebrow as though in question, determined not to give anything away that the man had not already figured out for himself.

"It appears as though your boss is in for a bit of a surprise." The man's smile was now evil, his eyes leering. "The beauty that you picked out for him is not exactly as drugged or as cooperative as she would have us to believe. But then, you knew that already, didn't you?"

Naji met his eyes without blinking, unwilling to give this man the satisfaction of a response, waiting instead to see what type of conclusion he would draw for himself.

As Naji had hoped, he continued without expecting an answer. "The only thing I have not figured out is your intention. Do you intend to rob me? Surely your boss has the means to purchase any girl of his choosing at auction. Or are you attempting to muscle me out of business and open your own operation? What is it that you want?"

Again, Naji never flinched. "I told you what he wants. Paid you handsomely for it, in fact."

The man was smiling an evil smile again as he turned to look at the live picture of Brennan in her room. Her head had just snapped toward the doorway, and she was rising carefully to her feet, her eyes slightly panicked as she watched the door begin to open.

The man laughed as he leaned forward toward the monitor, bracing his hands on the table. "I think we are about to find out. If it is your boss's intention to steal my property, the camera will catch it and both of you will soon die. And if I am wrong - if you are who you say you are - then I can't say I won't enjoy watching. The girl appears to be a fighter." He smirked as he threw his next words over his shoulder at Naji. "I certainly hope your boss likes it rough."

To Be Continued…


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 **Content warning: See author's note in first chapter. It applies to this chapter and the next. You have been warned.**

As Booth was led through the passageways outside the security room, his mind reeled. He had understood none of the conversation between Naji and the Albanian man. But the implication of the video he had seen, the one of himself and Naji at the warehouse, was clear in any language: their cover, if not entirely blown, was on shaky ground at best. He knew he would have to do anything necessary to avoid raising further suspicion until he had secured Bones' rescue, and he was determined to do just that. He would play along…for now.

Little did he know just how far he would have to play along. He found out only moments later, when the armed man stopped in front of a heavy metal door and began to unlock it. All of Booth's senses were on full alert as the door began to swing open, praying he would see his partner on the other side.

His fists clenched at his sides and he wanted to shove the Albanian henchman out of the way to get a look inside that room - it seemed to take the door an eternity to swing open. But his eyes were finally rewarded with the most welcome sight he'd seen in what seemed like an eternity: Bones, dressed and made-up in a manner that made him want to beat the hell out of somebody, but appearing generally unharmed as she unsteadily made her way to her feet. In that moment, he was infinitely grateful to Naji for having warned him about her attire.

But the relief that flooded him at having found her alive was very short-lived. The armed man impatiently motioned him inside, quickly closing the door and locking it behind him when he entered. Before the door had even slammed shut, Booth fully understood the gravity of their situation; he instantly catalogued and evaluated all that he saw, and a very uneasy feeling started to spread through his chest.

Two security cameras on the ceiling. He'd seen those at almost the same instant that he saw Bones. So undoubtedly the Albanian boss was still in the security room watching their every move. Naji wasn't the only one who'd seen the one glaringly empty monitor and guessed at its purpose.

Microphones, small but visible on the cameras. The sound had been turned off in the security room when Booth had been there; but if the current occupants of that room wanted to hear every word spoken in this room, they could. He wouldn't be able to talk to her.

Next and most daunting was the inescapable steel shackle locked around Brennan's ankle. Getting her out of the room unassisted was no longer an option. And leaving her there for even a moment without him was out of the question even if he _could_ break down the door. They would have to stay there together until somebody came back to release him and her both from the room, and more importantly from her shackle. By which time, hopefully, Naji would have secured some firepower and have blown the lot of those bastards straight to hell so he could get her out of this godforsaken place.

But with the cameras trained on them - undoubtedly meaning that the Albanian boss was fully aware of her not-so-drugged state and probably expecting one hell of a show by now - he was down to one option if he was to maintain any element of surprise when that door opened again.

His heart sank into the pit of his stomach as he realized what that option was.

If he wanted to keep Bones alive, he had no choice but to give that sick son-of-a-bitch in the security room - that sick, twisted, very-soon-to-die son-of-a-bitch - the show he expected.

But then….

Then, he thought to himself as he slowly drew in a deep breath and focused on his terrified partner…then he was going to kill him. Slowly.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Tension snapped through her body as Brennan heard the door being unlocked, a flood of sudden panic driving her immediately to her feet - too immediately, as it turned out. Her weary body, already pushed to the limits from Tolka's abuse mingled with pure exhaustion - not to mention the cocktail of drugs that had been constantly coursing through her system for days - finally rebelled against her. Her vision blurred, the room began to spin, and she swayed unsteadily on her heels as she fought passing out. Terrified frustration flooded her - two large male forms were standing in the open doorway, but she could not even make out their faces, much less defend herself. She shook her head, desperately trying to see _anything_ clearly, her heart thudding against her ribs.

By the time the room stopped spinning and her vision cleared, there was only one human form still standing inside the now closed door - and when she finally got a good look at him, she thought she must surely be hallucinating. The best and worst she had hoped for was the Arabic man who had paid for her earlier, whose intentions were still in question.

But what she saw was…Booth.

 _Booth!_

It was _over._

If anything, her limbs became even heavier as she finally relaxed her guard to the point of crashing. She didn't have to fight anymore. She had set her mental endurance clock, without even realizing it, to keep her going until Booth got there.

And now he was there.

It was finally, finally over.

ooo … ooo … ooo …

As the deadbolt on the door clicked into place behind him, sealing his fate, Booth watched intently as Bones' eyes finally seemed to focus on his face. She'd been starting to scare him with that unrecognizing stare, her body language screaming that she was utterly terrified. But when her eyes filled with recognition and relief, it didn't make him feel much better. His heart broke at the trust he saw there - at the way her body relaxed.

Wordlessly, loath to take his gaze off of her face for even one second, he lifted his eyes toward the ceiling once, twice, and again, alternating with her face, trying to cue her in to the cameras above him. _'Look up, Bones,'_ he begged silently in his head. _'For the love of God, you have to look up and see the cameras…'_

But she didn't. God help him, she wasn't looking for answers anywhere other than his face, which she was drinking in like he was some kind of damn superhero. She had to choose this of all days to look at him like that? He'd never felt less like one.

She lurched in his direction with a heavy, relieved exhalation, stumbling in the too-tight, too-tall heels as Booth thanked every saint he could think of that she hadn't spoken his name and revealed that she knew him. He knew her well enough to know the dam was about to break, that tears were probably already brimming up in those blue eyes.

It was the moment he'd wanted since she set foot on that damn plane…if he waited another 3 seconds, she'd be safe in his arms. At least, she'd be safe there for the few seconds it would take for the alarm to be sounded when that action blew his cover, and then they'd both die.

He had no choice - he had to stop her. But even so, it took every ounce of restraint he had to keep his feet planted where they were instead of rushing forward to catch her when her steps stumbled - to keep from hauling her into his arms and letting her know everything was okay. She stumbled into him, more than running to him, her hands grabbing straight for his shoulders like he was her life preserver and she was drowning in the sea.

Rebelling inwardly against the cruelty of it, he quickly reacted as though her sudden advance had been an attack, praying that his reaction would convince their audience of the same.

In one lightning fast move, he grabbed her, spinning her around so her back was trapped against his chest, his arm an iron band around her waist. His other hand closed firmly over her mouth, stopping her from calling out his name and blowing both their covers, as he began dragging her across the room in the general direction of the bed, actually heading for the wall on its other side…the wall he had judged as the poorest line of sight in the room for the cameras, which focused primarily from the center of the room to the bed.

It was like trying to drag a wildcat. He knew her adrenaline had kicked in…could literally feel her heart slamming against her ribcage where he gripped her, as she bucked wildly against him trying to break free. The terrified sounds she made, muffled against his hand over her mouth, ripped at his heart. He supported her weight as she scissored her legs, trying to gain purchase on the floor with her heeled feet, trying to stop his backward motion. Her arms and hands clawed at his, trying to pull them away from her torso, her mouth. But her panicked movements couldn't break free from his steely grip, and she didn't try to hit him even once.

Right under the cameras, he couldn't risk an attempt to speak to her, to try to calm her. Instead he just gritted his teeth and kept dragging her ruthlessly, easily putting down her panicked resistance in her weakened condition. Incongruously, a flash of anger shot through him-anger at _her_. Why wasn't she _fighting_ her attacker, the way that he knew she could? What was she doing? On a really good day, she probably had at least a half-decent chance of kicking his ass if she caught him off-guard. How could she let him drag her toward that bed like that, flailing with panic rather than artfully doing him grievous injury? He knew he had no intention of actually harming her, but how could she take that chance? Damn it, the second he or anybody else touched her like that, she should have flipped him over her shoulder and gouged that high heel right into his throat. Half of him silently begged her to _please stop fighting him_ ; the other was screaming at her to _Fight, Bones, Dammit!_

Because the question of what would happen if it wasn't _him_ in that room with her, dragging her toward that bed, made his blood run cold.

Despite his feelings on the matter, he still swore like a sailor when she almost bit a hole in his hand.

Instinctively jerking his bitten hand away, he momentarily lost his grip with the other when she gave a savage twist in his arms, stumbling forward and away.

Losing the support of his arm, weakened and wobbling in the stiletto shoes, she made it two steps before she started to fall face-first.

Only a half-step behind her, Booth caught her waist and guided her fall toward the ground, supporting her as much as he could and then letting go at the last possible moment so she could reach out and instinctively catch her fall with her hands. It all happened so fast that he knew it would look like he'd simply shoved her away and pushed her to the ground for biting him - even to her.

At least now she wasn't swaying around on those ridiculously tiny heels, and he didn't have to worry about her falling over. But the look she was giving him was torture - pure, hurt shock filling her blue eyes, her mouth falling slightly open as she lay partially on her side where she landed, staring up at him. And all he could do was stare unfeelingly back at her like the coldblooded rapist he had to portray.

And still, the camera above him watched, sending every movement back to the man who could give one order and kill her, not allowing him even a moment's reprieve. It was enough to prompt him to toss aside his suit coat, and slowly roll up his sleeves as he loomed over her. The implication made him sick. Hell was too good for the men responsible for him ever putting that look on her face.

He began approaching her slowly, his resolve alternately weakening and strengthening with each step. He knew what he had to do - what he had to make the men _believe_ he was doing - but it was ripping him apart. How the hell was he going to start this? How do you pretend to rape the woman you love? He had no frame of reference for something like this, and didn't want one. He'd never get another decent night's sleep if he got something like that in his head.

As he came closer he began to circle her, prompting her to also turn her body around on the ground to continue facing him. He continued circling her, carefully arranging them so that his back would be to the cameras. He moved so close he was practically standing on top of her, in an effort to shield her from their view with his own larger body. She had yet to move other than rotating her body to warily track his movements.

He swallowed his revulsion and reached up to loosen his tie - God, was he really doing this? Her eyes were focused on his face as he made a show of removing his tie, throwing it carelessly to the side like the arrogant, cocky rich bastard he was supposed to be; and he had to clench his fists to keep his control when he saw those blue eyes begin to fill with shocked tears as his actions registered in her mind. She was staring at him like…like she wasn't sure who he was. He could sympathize - at the moment, _he_ wasn't sure who he was.

Her eyes grew even wider as he untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, baring his chest but not quite able to bring himself to fully remove his shirt with that look on her face. Again, he wanted to yell at her to _fight,_ goddamnit. That passivity from her, in the face of what she now _had_ to suspect of him, scared the shit out of him.

She scooted backward away from him as he toed off his shoes, body curling in on herself in a subconscious bid to shield her state of undress from him, her entire posture defensive and eyes watchful. It was an instinctive response-he _knew_ that, even without having to hear some damn anthropological lecture. But it still took every drop of self-control he had not to drop to his knees beside her and beg her not to look at him like that - to beg for her forgiveness.

His hands stilled at his belt buckle, the next most logical piece of clothing to go, when a tiny strangled sound of disbelief left her throat. This was more than he could take. The protection of his back to the cameras, hopefully hiding her, would have to be enough to take a risk. That sick fuck in the other room was just going to have to figure he got off on taking his time and intimidating her first. Maybe he could stall long enough for Naji to arrive. He held his breath as he pointedly flitted his eyes upwards twice, again, willing her to follow them. Mouthing the word, " _Look_." Frustration hit its boiling point as he saw that she still did not understand his silent instructions. Her eyes seemed irrevocably locked on his face, incapable of moving.

 _'Look up, Bones,'_ he silently prayed. _'Jesus. Please. I just need you to look up.'_ His mind pleaded with her, desperate for her to save _him_ by understanding.

Instead, she did the worst thing she could have done. He saw her lick her lips as she struggled to sit up, the nervous question she intended to ask written all over her face… _Booth, what are you doing?_

At that moment, his course became blindingly, inescapably clear. He wasn't going to be able to let her finish that question. He wasn't going to be able to stall anymore. His hesitation had put her in enough danger already. He was going to have to see this through if it killed him.

But when it was all over, he wasn't just going to kill the bastards responsible. He was going to _hurt_ them.

… ooo … ooo …

His name died in her throat, giving way to a startled gasp when he reached out to grab her. Her hands rose up to defend herself - from _him_ , goddamnit - and she tried to scoot backward away from him. He could allow neither. Forcing himself into cold, calculating sniper mode, he reached out again with his camera-side hand, burying it in her hair like he was getting a good grip. That one was just for show. The sick, sadistic son-of-a-bitch watching them ought to enjoy that. What Booth was going to enjoy was ripping his head off with his bare hands.

At the same time one hand filled with her hair, he reached down with his other hand and grabbed her under the arm, jerking her to her feet as gently as he could that way.

It worked, God help him - she didn't try to say his name again, or ask what was going on.

Instead, she screamed - hands flying up to her head to claw at his hold on her hair, despite the fact that he had applied absolutely no force with that hand and couldn't possibly have hurt her.

Finally, her fight kicked in, and he immediately wished it hadn't. With a vicious jerk she pulled away from him before he could let go, and he felt the rip of a small clump of her hair coming out in his hand even before he heard her pained cry. His free arm shot out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her hard against him and holding her there where he could get her under control so she couldn't hurt herself any more.

 _"Boooth!"_

The way she screamed his name was heartrending, though the calculatingly mission-oriented part of his mind immediately analyzed and dismissed it as not giving up the fact that she knew him-it would be unintelligible to anyone else who heard it, especially a non-English speaker. They would simply hear a plea for help…a plea for him to stop. Not a name. But the fear of letting her say anything _else_ and risk blowing his cover was even more pressing _._

Detangling and freeing his hand that was in her hair, he forced her backward until her back hit the wall closest to the bed but farthest from the camera - once again with his back to the lens, and making every effort to shield her. She struggled against him, pushing desperately but ineffectually against his chest, and he could feel how weak her body was from her ordeal. He was able to restrain her effortlessly. For some reason, that fact tore at him even more, as did the few auburn hairs clinging to his hand as a reminder of what he had just unintentionally done to her. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face turned away, her breathing hard and fast.

He _needed_ to be able to talk to her - maybe get her to understand enough to _help_ him, if only by just _pretending_ to fight instead of making him have to really subdue her; but he was going to have to have a reason to have his mouth near her ear.

He drew the line at forcing his lips onto hers. It seemed a near impossibility now that she'd ever want to really kiss him. But he still couldn't cross that line. And he needed to slow things down, still banking on the only possible salvation open to him at that point….Naji's arrival, guns blazing.

Unable to meet the eyes he could feel return to him as he hesitated, he lowered his head, dropping his lips down onto her collarbone in the best imitation he could do of an aggressive, unwanted kiss while barely touching her.

"No…"

The part of him that was focused on successfully carrying out his mission felt a grim satisfaction as she again tried to push him away: on camera, it would appear he was doing exactly what he needed the Albanian bastard to believe he was doing. The rest of him - the man that was in love with a woman - hated himself more with each second that he held her against her will.

With her pinned against the wall by his body, he could support her that way and let go of her waist. Carefully, making sure he didn't hurt her again, he swallowed his dread of touching her hair again and wove his free hand into her hair, gently pulling her head just far enough to the side to give him access to her ear. He continued pretending to maul his way up her throat like some kind of slobbering animal, his actions in reality heartbreakingly gentle as he moved his mouth up until it was close by her ear. This was one chance he was going to have to take. He could not do this anymore. Pretending as though he was still forcefully kissing the struggling woman in his arms, he whispered as quietly as possible into her ear.

 _'It's okay, Bones…'_

Her name came out a strangled whisper from his lips. Her still shallow breathing near his ear was so loud, he felt sure it would drown out his quiet whisper. Had she even heard him?

But she momentarily froze against him...

Relief ripped through him at the moment she stopped fighting him, so much so that his knees almost buckled. Barely able to trust his own voice, he whispered one more time in her ear, punctuating each break in his whispered words with what would appear on camera to be hard, open-mouthed kisses to the spot just below her ear. _'Look up! Cameras._ _ **Trust**_ _me, Bones, please! Won't hurt you.'_

He felt some of the tension drain out of her body. Her hands, trapped between them, stopped pushing against his chest and fisted around the open sides of his dress shirt like she was holding onto a lifeline.

When he drew back enough to look into her eyes, that heartrendingly confused look was gone, even if her eyes did look a bit glassy.

 _Oh, thank God, she understands...thank you, God…_

ooo . ooo . ooo

For Brennan, as her back hit that wall she felt trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape. Even worse than the physical trauma, she no longer trusted her own mind.

Nausea. Panic. Disbelief. Confusion.

Her eyes still told her the man in the room with her was Booth. He even _smelled_ like Booth. The only conclusion she could reach was that she had hallucinated his presence entering the room because she so desperately desired it.

She didn't know who was really there.

She didn't know anything anymore. Ever since she crashed to the floor after biting the hand clamped over her mouth, she had been so dizzy and nauseated she couldn't even see clearly. It was all so confusing. Her body cried out for the drugs that had been forced on her, the only substance that could take away the terrible withdrawal symptoms she now experienced. She could feel the tears making their way to the surface again, desperate for this all to come to an end. It was supposed to be over. When Booth came, it was supposed to be _over_. She was so tired…

Her mind could not reconcile the fact that Booth would actually _hurt_ her - but this man _was_ hurting her.

And if he _was_ Booth…

Booth was hurting her…

When his mouth crashed onto her neck and she found herself pinned against the cold, rough wall in a horribly twisted version of her most vivid nighttime fantasies, she fought against him with what little strength she had left. This was not what she wanted, and some part of her still knew him well enough to know this couldn't possibly be what he really wanted either - not _Booth_ , the man who had spoken about making love in such a heartfelt way that she had begun to long for it, with him as teacher and guide.

She had to be mistaken. She couldn't trust her own eyes.

 _'It's okay, Bones…'_

His voice…

She froze against him, still pinioned against the cold wall by the contrasting heat of warm flesh.

Bones…

That was what Booth called her…only Booth.

 _'Look up! Cameras._ _Trust_ _me, please. Won't hurt you.'_

It was the heavily emphasized _'Trust me'_ that made it through to her addled brain - or maybe it was the _'Please'._ Either way, the desperation fled her just long enough for him to relax his hold, pull back, and meet her eyes for one split second.

The other words made no sense. She couldn't _make_ sense of them. She was dangerously close to collapsing. All she knew was that the Booth she knew was back... _'_ _Trust_ _me, please.'_

He wasn't going to hurt her anymore. He wouldn't let _anyone_ hurt her anymore. He would take her home, where she could sleep.

She relaxed against him, fingers fisting his open shirt. She couldn't let _this_ Booth disappear…

She wasn't sure what she had expected him to do next, other than take her home. Surely help must be coming, and this would go no further. Surely Booth would never allow it to go further. His hand released her waist, his other hand unwinding from her hair, and she relaxed a bit more - almost collapsing against him.

But it wasn't over.

To her shock and horror, both of his hands moved to her shoulders and roughly pulled the sheer, gauzy robe off of her shoulders and down her arms in one sudden, violent move, letting it fall in tatters to the floor.

Although the robe had offered no real cover, she felt its loss keenly as she now stood before her friend and partner in nothing more than a nearly sheer bra, panties, garter belt, stockings and heels.

She stared up at him in silent, openmouthed shock, but he wouldn't meet her eyes as he swung their bodies around and began backing her across the room in the direction of the bed, one arm snaking tightly around her waist keeping her close against him and on her feet. Bending his head, he forced hers backward as his mouth once again crashed into her throat, lips skimming downward toward her chest this time as the two of them crossed through the center of the room - just beneath the cameras, had she looked up. His hot breath and surprisingly dry lips hovered just millimeters above her scantily clad breasts, and she squeezed her eyes shut at what seemed the inevitability of what would come next.

What was he _doing?_ She couldn't even cry out, her mind racing to understand. His actions, so violent on the surface, were contradictory in more than just the fact that Booth would _never_ violate her this way - his lips skimmed over her skin in a way that was unbelievably gentle, only randomly and barely touching her despite the frenetic energy and aggression in the way he moved. It made no sense. His face burrowed into her skin close above her breasts, but there was no contact of his mouth against her nipples as it seemed there should be if things followed their logical progression; the completely irrational, nonsensical thought that he was trying to keep his face hidden from something raced through her mind, but was dismissed just as quickly.

She tried desperately to push him away from her, nearly stumbling in the process, and was brought up short by a broad hand catching her just under her backside, holding her steady and keeping her firmly in place. His other arm circled her upper back, his fingers reaching up and threading into her hair, pulling her up and against him.

A disbelieving whimper escaped her lips when she felt the back of her legs hit the end of the bed.

ooo … ooo … ooo …

Through the monitor, Naji watched, horrified, as the entire scene unfolded before him, beginning to end. The Albanian man had all but forgotten about him as he gleefully watched the monitor, apparently convinced at this point that Booth and Naji were who they said they were, presenting no danger to him. In fact, it appeared more than anything that he probably wished Naji weren't even there at that point, he was enjoying the sickening scene before them so much.

That was the one point he and Naji actually agreed on…Naji had a pretty fervent desire not to be there either.

He clenched and unclenched his fists as he watched his friend knock Dr. Brennan to the ground when she ran to him, clearly seeing the hurt in her eyes and the rage in Booth's at what he had to do. A careful look at the sharply dressed Albanian man told Naji that he had caught neither, accepting what he saw at face value.

He knew what Booth's plan was, without having to be told. Booth was going to make this look as real as possible, waiting for either someone with a key to Brennan's shackle to come into the room to let him out, or for Naji to create the promised distraction in a way that would somehow help get them both out. And Naji didn't have a damn clue how he was going to do that. That had been the plan _before_ they arrived to find out their cover was already shot to hell and gone.

Naji watched Booth circle Brennan on the monitor as she turned with him to face him, and realized that Booth was turning them to block the cameras. His plan had worked, and Naji could only see the back of Booth's head at the moment that Brennan opened her mouth to speak. Because he did not see it, he actually flinched at the unexpectedness of what happened next, when Booth suddenly lunged toward her and grabbed her by the hair, violently jerking her to her feet.

He could see Brennan struggling against Booth uselessly, and wondered what had caused Booth's sudden action. When Booth's head dropped to Brennan's neck and he began forcefully going after her as she struggled, only one clear thought rang out in Naji's mind: _'Jesus.'_

The Albanian man had the audacity to chuckle at what he saw on the screen, leaning even closer to the monitor, and that was what finally pushed Naji over the edge. The man still stood leaned over the table, between Naji and the armed guard at the door. Casually, Naji took a step closer to the monitor as he spied a semi-sharp letter opener in a cup of pens and office supplies sitting on the table just beside the man's hand.

 _'Okay, that's it,'_ he thought to himself as he watched Booth pushing Brennan in the direction of the bed. _'I have really, really had enough of these bastards now.'_

Naji forced himself to relax in the moment before he sprung. Lightning fast, the letter opener was in his hand and his arm was around the Albanian man's throat, pulling him back against him. The armed guard immediately drew his weapon and pointed it at Naji, but by that time Naji's back was already against the back wall, the Albanian man in front of him as the perfect shield. His hand dug the point of the opener against the man's neck at the carotid artery, his eyes like steel on the guard.

'"Drop it. Now. Or he dies."

ooo . ooo . ooo

As Booth pushed Brennan across the room toward the bed, spurred on by the relieved knowledge that she had understood his words and now understood his intentions, his thoughts were already racing several actions ahead. If he could get them both into the bed and pull the bedcovers over them, he could convincingly simulate the act her captors expected of them, without having to actually accost her any further. But if this entire experience had taught him anything, it should have been that nothing was going to be that simple.

The way she had suddenly relaxed against him when he had told her about the cameras and asked her to trust him had filled him with relief, allowing him to somewhat confidently proceed with making his 'attack' seem as real as possible. Even so, he had refused to meet her eyes as he roughly tore the flimsy, pointless robe off her. Now that he knew she understood, his own sanity depended on keeping this as mechanical and impersonal as possible. If he allowed himself to think about _her_ \- to truly realize he was getting ready to simulate the most unspeakable violation possible, on a woman he would gladly die for - he would not be able to do this.

So when he realized she was staring up at him, he had avoided her eyes, instead dropping his mouth to her throat as he pushed her backwards across the room. He was in mission mode now…clear his mind, do what it took to convince their audience that he was keeping up his end of the bargain without compromising her any more than necessary, and don't think about the fact that it's Bones. Those were his sole objectives, and he went through the motions with as little thought as possible - make it look as aggressive and rough as possible, with as little actual contact as possible; don't really hurt her; shield her nearly naked body from the cameras as much as possible. Even so, it was impossible to completely forget that his mouth was all over his partner and she didn't want it there. He'd never been more careful in his life than he was not to actually let his mouth graze the flesh of her breasts, while convincing the camera he was going at her ruthlessly.

He felt her hands pushing against his shoulders weakly, but when she stumbled he concluded that she was weakening and needed to hold onto him to steady herself. He blindly reached out a hand and caught her before she could fall, remembering too late when his hand grabbed little material and lots of flesh that she wasn't exactly wearing a lot of clothes. A flash of consternation went through him that his hand was on her butt with practically nothing else there, but she understood now and it would only aid the illusion that he was trying to get his money's worth.

But when her legs collided with the end of the bed he had just backed her up against, the noise that passed her lips sent reality crashing back down onto him, his breath catching in his throat. She had _whimpered_ , a small, terrified sound that Bones just wasn't a good enough actress to fake, and he needed to know _why._

Forgetting his pledge to himself to keep this impersonal, his head shot up instantly, seeking out her eyes. Just as immediately, he wished he hadn't. Heartbreak and fear were not emotions that he saw in her eyes very often, but it had the same heart-squeezing effect on him every time, causing his insides to twist and his stomach to sink. Amplifying the gut-twisting feeling was the fact that this time the fear was of _him,_ and she sure as hell wasn't faking _that_ for the cameras.

The realization almost took his breath away. _'My God…I thought she knew it was an act. Did she think I was about to…Jesus.'_ Heart hammering in his chest with the need to clear up her misconceptions immediately, he pulled her into a fierce embrace, burying his head in her neck below her ear where he could talk to her without worrying about the camera. This time he was going to make sure she fully understood, in full sentences, cameras be damned. At least they were no longer directly under the microphones. His lips moved against her skin as he spoke, allowing himself that one _real_ caress by way of apology, praying she could actually _feel_ the sincerity of his words against her skin.

The jumbled sentences fell from his lips, each falling far short of the desperate, unspoken translation inside his head:

"Oh God, Bones…." _God, you have no_ _ **idea**_ _how sorry I am._

"I thought you understood." _But how could you ever even_ _ **think**_ _that I could really..._

"They're watching - I've gotta make this look good." _If I even can. Jesus, did you_ _ **really**_ _think I'd hurt you for real?_

"Too important." _I'd do_ **anything** _for you, but can't you see this is killing me?_

He had not meant to say more, but as he reached around her with a now trembling hand and jerked the bedcovers back, his lips found their way into the soft skin at the crook of her shoulder, moving of their own accord. This time, his spoken words matched the final two words racing through his tortured mind, a plea for absolution for what he was about to do, regardless of whether it was real or not. "Forgive me..please."

So much terror he'd already put her through…and now the worst was still yet to come.

ooo . ooo . ooo

Time seemed to stand still for a moment in the security room, as Naji kept his arm taut around the throat of the man who had set this horrific scenario in motion. The Albanian man winced as the point of the letter opener dug into the delicate skin of his neck, and he was finally the one to break the silence as he began to bark desperate orders at his armed guard.

"Do what he says. Just do what he says!"

Naji's unflinching eyes watched as the guard slowly lowered his weapon to the floor, then stood up with his hands out to the side.

"Good." Naji's voice was cold, steady, deadly as he spoke in Albanian to the guard. "Now slowly take out your other gun by the barrel, set it on the table, and slowly step away backwards. One wrong move and I kill him."

The Albanian man's sharp intake of breath told Naji that he had been relying on his not noticing the second gun beneath the guard's jacket. He felt some satisfaction as he tightened his grip on the man's throat. "Yeah, I saw it." He turned his attention back to the guard, his voice tight and controlled, without a trace of wavering. "Do it."

The guard looked to his boss for confirmation, and the man had no choice but to tell him to comply, especially when he felt the sharp point pushed hard enough against his neck that it almost broke the skin. Seeing his boss's terrified approval, the guard carefully followed Naji's instructions.

"Very good. We're halfway there. Now you're going to turn around and face away from me, with your hands on top of your head."

Once again, the guard did as instructed, and soon stood with his back to his boss and Naji. The Albanian man, beginning to realize the gravity of his plight, now tried a different tactic: bargaining. But Naji had long since lost any patience he might have ever had for these men. "Shut up. Now." He pressed his crude weapon just a little harder into the man's flesh, emphasizing his point. "Now move."

Keeping the man against him, Naji edged his way along the wall and toward the table where the guard had set the gun. When he got close, he took advantage of the guard's back being turned to him. The hand that held the letter opener shot out with perfect precision, dropping it and grabbing the gun. In less than a second, the gun was jammed against the Albanian man's neck in place of the letter opener.

"You!" He spit out at the armed guard. "Take three steps backward toward me. Slow and easy." The guard did so, backing cautiously toward him. Without warning and without hesitation, Naji reached out and struck the guard in the back of the head with the gun, watching as he folded to the ground.

"All right. Now it's just you and me," he taunted his Albanian captive. "And that's not a good place to be if you don't tell me exactly what I want to know, so listen carefully. Where is that room, and who has a key to her shackle?"

The Albanian man's voice was defiant as he answered. "Did you really think it would be that easy? Did you think I'd just tell you and let you walk away free?"

"No. Not really." Naji's tone was utterly calm, casual, conversational as he studied the walls of the room. "Nice… soundproofing your security room. It makes certain aspects of interrogations so much easier, wouldn't you agree?"

The man flinched against him, but offered no other response as Naji cocked the gun against his neck.

"Not that it really matters. You never planned to tell me anything anyway. But then, I never planned to let you go, either."

And then he pulled the trigger.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 **Content warning: As stated before, see author's note in chapter 1. It definitely applies to this chapter too.**

Before he could have time to talk himself out of it, Naji turned and put a bullet into the guard as well. Mercy was one thing, but three lives including his own were depending on him. If he left either of these men alive, he ran the risk of them alerting more guards to his presence. Quickly, he dropped to his knees and searched through both of their pockets, hoping to find a key to Dr. Brennan's shackle. The Albanian boss had a ring of keys and Naji gladly took them, but they all seemed to be door keys. Even if one of the keys let him in the room where Booth and Brennan were, he would not be able to release her. A violent curse escaped his lips as he searched the guard and was unable to locate any keys on him at all.

Using the boss's keys, Naji was able to find one that opened a small supply closet in the back of the room. Quickly, he dragged the bodies of the two men and shoved them inside, closing and locking the door. There was nothing he could do about the blood on the floor, other than hope that whoever found it would spend so much time tracking it to the closet that they would delay sounding the alarm while they investigated.

Turning his eyes back to the monitor, the blood drained from his face at what he saw. _'Oh my God.'_ The picture on the monitor now showed his best friend, almost completely undressed, astride his struggling partner on the bed. Even with the volume turned all the way down where the Albanian man had left it, Naji could tell that she was screaming. More than anything, he wished he could let Booth know that there was no reason to keep up the act any longer. If this went on much longer, it was going to destroy both of them.

Rage flooded through Naji at the senselessness of it all, as his mind flooded with the images of the other women he had seen in the room with Brennan, not to mention the disgusting warehouse operation. _'Oh yeah. I've definitely had enough of these fucking bastards. This is personal now.'_ Before the thought was through his mind, his cell phone was in his hand as he called his office, knowing the woman he needed to talk to would be there waiting to hear from him.

His business partner, Irene Rankin, had been hired on to handle the financial side of his business, and it hadn't hurt matters that she was the prettiest woman Naji had ever seen. He was a wicked flirt, and very much liked to surround himself with beautiful ladies. But in short time, she had proved to be as brilliant as she was gorgeous, and soon she was enmeshed in almost every detail of his business and most of his personal life - plus there was the fact that she was maybe just a little bit in love with him. And while it was true that Naji had never been in love, he knew exactly who he would choose to fall in love with if his job weren't so dangerous that he could never allow it.

Sure enough, she answered the secure line on the first ring. "About time, Basara. How's the lovely city of Vlore?"

Despite the intensity of all that was happening, he couldn't stop his voice from softening just a bit when he heard her. "You been tracking me?"

He could almost hear her roll her eyes. "What do you think?"

A half smile pulled at the corner of his lips. _'Good',_ he thought. But what came out of his mouth was,"You know I told you not to, right? How many and where are they?"

Her rapid fire response was almost enough to make the smile reach his eyes - almost. "Yeah, well, you know you're our meal ticket around here, right? Four of them, Bay of Vlore, sitting on a private yacht on _your_ dime, griping about having to follow you back and forth from Vlore to Tirana and back again. Personally, I think they just didn't want to leave the yacht, except for Jennings. He's just mad that he hasn't got to blow anything up yet."

He nodded, satisfied, somehow knowing she would 'hear' his silent approval. "Tell him he's going to get that chance. From the Bay they should be able to be here in 10 minutes. We have a mission."

She listened as he gave her the coordinates and told her what he wanted them to do, and he almost heard her eyebrow go up. "Gotta ask...who's paying for this particular mission?"

"Just add it to my tab, along with the yacht. This one's on my dime too. Oh, and wait 'til you see my new wheels." With that, he disconnected. Grabbing both of the guns that had belonged to the guard, he hesitated in front of the monitor showing Booth and Brennan for one more second. She was no longer struggling, and was now in fact completely still beneath him, though Naji couldn't see her face. Booth had wisely hidden their lower halves beneath the bedcovers as he moved back and forth over her, hidden by the blankets; her arms were pinned above her head with one of Booth's large hands.

 _'If I didn't know better, I'd think he actually...'_ Feeling slightly guilty for that wayward thought, he turned to go but then thought better of it. With a slightly sick feeling he couldn't quite explain, Naji drew one of the guns back and smashed it into the monitor, breaking it. If anyone else did come into this room, they weren't going to be seeing what was going on in that room. Booth had been through enough, and these bastards had seen more than enough of the lady already.

Carefully, he left the room, locking the door behind him, and began stealthily making his way through the hallways as he tried to locate his friend.

ooo … ooo … ooo

When he first pushed the covers back, Booth clenched his teeth as he grabbed his partner by the shoulders. He pushed her none too gently onto the bed, knowing that to be believable he would have to be a little rough with her. Pushing her hard onto a soft bed would satisfy the illusion of roughness without actually hurting her. When he had managed to position her on the pillow, he watched with more than a little concern as she turned her head away and closed her eyes, her breathing rapid.

She never even looked at him as he quickly removed his shirt, socks and pants. He refused to take the undressing any further than that, leaving his boxers on. He had removed her robe only because it did nothing to cover her anyway; and, as with the pushing her onto the bed, he had to go for the look of reality without actually compromising her. What he really wanted to do was put his coat on her and get her the hell out of there.

It worried him deeply that she had retreated into herself and would no longer meet his eyes. That sight, considering his FBI training, filled him with a gnawing dread. Had he been too late? Was he not the first "arrangement" that had been set up for her? If he wasn't, then how much _more_ damage was he inflicting now?

Unable to even believe what he was doing, he placed his knee onto the bed and fought to keep his resolve as he moved toward her, wishing with all his heart that she would open her eyes and reassure him that she was okay.

Much as he hated it, it appeared they were stuck there a little longer and he was going to have to 'finish' this for the cameras.

He bent his head over in the general direction of her upper chest, still carefully avoiding her lips. . If by some miracle there was still any chance for them after this, no way in hell was he letting these bastards take that from them too. No way in hell. If he was ever going to kiss her, it was certainly not going to be like this; and when he did, he was going to make damn certain that _that_ part, at least, would hold no bad memories for her.

These men had already taken enough from them. So much of this horrific situation was like a bizarre, nightmarish version of things he had wanted so badly for them, twisted beyond belief and made ugly by men obsessed with greed. It made him want to retch. How many times had he imagined her in sexy lingerie, his arms gripping her to him tightly as his mouth ran all over her? How many times had he envisioned leading her to his bed, pressing her down into it with his own body as he pleasured her? How many times had he fantasized about taking her gently, hard, and everything in between?

But in every single one of those fantasies, she had been a completely willing and enthusiastic participant. No pleasure could be found in this for him. It was beyond wrong. This debacle that had been forced upon them was killing his dreams for them, one by one, taking each one and twisting it into something unrecognizable that made him feel dirty for ever having thought it. And all he could think was that somebody needed to pay for that. His desire to get her out of the building as quickly as possible warred with his burning need for revenge against somebody…anybody…responsible for this.

What Booth couldn't possibly know was that when his weight hit the mattress it had caused Brennan's own weight to shift, and the forgotten piece of glass at the back of her leg began to slip sideways beneath the garter. Now it no longer rested against the bandage over her skin, though she was not yet aware of it. Suddenly, as he leaned over her, their combined weight on the back of her leg caused the glass to stab painfully into her leg, cutting her. Crying out in pain, her eyes shot open - and that was when it happened.

The half naked man looming above her - whose panicked concern she completely missed, though it was clearly etched all over his face - no longer bore the image of her partner. Instead, where Booth's face had hovered over her, Brennan's mind now told her that she had been mistaken all along. Edon Tolka's sneering face and undressed body was what she saw, preparing to move atop her. And complete, gut-wrenching panic took over as that flashback of her initial abduction hit her in the middle of that bed. A bloodcurdling scream tore out of her throat, as she surged upward in a desperate bid to free herself from the pain in her leg and the terror of Edon Tolka.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth would spend many nights in the near future trying to forget that look, in which he could see nothing of the Temperance Brennan he knew and loved. Completely wild, her eyes stared right through him as though she didn't even see him, filled with more terror than he had ever thought possible as she fought against some unseen enemy.

Her body lurched, and she tried to sit bolt upright. He panicked when he realized that she was going to try to break free of him, terrified of what might happen if her captors saw the situation get out of control and opened the door before he expected them. What would they do to her for her outburst, if they still believed him to be a paying customer? He had to be fully ready to surprise them with his attack when they opened the door to let him out. He had to convince them everything was under control and just finish this thing.

Doing the only thing he knew to do to protect her, he lunged forward, causing her chest to crash into his as she surged upward. Her arms swung gracelessly - swings of desperation - and he had no choice but to grab her flailing arms and push them downward on either side of her head as she fell backward, before she could hurt either of them.

She screamed again as he did so, a cry of pain, and he winced as he remembered her red, raw wrists. His sudden movement forward combined with his grab for her wrists had sent him off balance, and he fell forward landing fully on top of her. When she tried to kick her lower body away from him, he moved to straddle her legs, squeezing them together tightly with his own as he shifted to take his weight off of her onto his elbows. He was quickly becoming afraid that if he let her go, she would hurt herself. He held her as still as possible as he repositioned his grip on her wrists to move his hands higher on her arms, away from her painfully raw wrists. But even as he did so, her screams just continued, loud and long as though she were still in pain.

He needed to pull the bedcovers over them so that he could begin simulating the actual act for the camera, but he was afraid to let go of either of her wrists long enough to do so. His blood boiled with a fierce rage at her captors for putting them both through this, but there was no going back now. Pulling hard, he jerked both of her arms up above her head, clamping them together just above the wrist and holding them there with one of his hands. With the other he reached back and yanked the bedcovers up over them, so that their lower halves were covered. He would be damned if he were removing anymore of either of their clothes, so his free hand hidden beneath the covers was just going to have to be enough to convince them that he was removing the last barriers between them.

Still her screams and struggles continued, and he was at a sudden loss for what to do. Despite his tight grip on her - her arms and legs both under his control and his chest pinning down her torso - she continued to twist and buck in a frantic attempt to dislodge him.

His breaking point came when her struggles caused her to brush intimately against him several times in a row, and his traitorous body actually began to react despite his utter revulsion at what he was doing. Though he could almost _hear_ her voice inside his head telling him all the reasons for it and that it was a purely physiological reaction to an external physical stimuli, he still cursed himself for being a sick bastard. The memory of his body's unwanted reaction to something so _wrong_ would be the source of many self-recriminations in the coming months. They would both have their demons, and that memory would forever be one of his. But at that moment, all he could think was that it was time to end this, _now._

The cameras forgotten in his desperation to put an end to her screams and struggles, he painfully called her name again and again, tears forming in his own eyes. "Bones! Bones! It's me! Please... Please, Bones, look at me. I'm not going to hurt you. Jeez, l _ook at me!_ "

The last words ripped so hoarsely from his throat that it caught her attention. Her wild eyes swept across his face before finally locking in on his own, and he saw the moment that recognition filled them. All of the fight drained from her body, and she collapsed limply beneath him.

He could not stop his head from drooping to her shoulder gratefully when he saw her come back to herself; could not stop the relieved gasp deep in his chest. When he looked back up at her, she had squeezed her eyes shut, tears visible beneath her lashes. Her breathing was deep and even. This time he would take the silence, knowing now how much worse it could be.

Though he did not even know it existed and therefore had no way of knowing it, the shard of glass had finally dislodged itself fully from beneath her leg after her last struggle against him, no longer cutting into her. She was completely unaware of him as he clenched his teeth and began moving his body back and forth above her to simulate the sex act for the cameras. Not once did he actually touch her, other than where he still held her forgotten wrists in his one hand.

His one goal in mind now was to finish the performance, and then take out all of his rage on the unfortunate bastard who would come to let him out of the room when the cameras told them that he was finished and waiting by the door.

As that goal consumed his mind, he suddenly froze when the sound of distant gunshots rang out in his ear. After a few moments, he heard more gunshots, this time closer, along with some faint shouting. Disentangling himself from his partner and moving to listen at the door, he suddenly realized that he might get his chance sooner rather than later.

His jaw tightened as he looked back to the bed to see Brennan still lying there limply, eyes closed and tears running down her face. Yes, somebody was going to pay.

TO BE CONTINUED


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Still wearing only his boxers, Booth stood by the door listening intently as the shouting outside seemed to draw closer and closer, trying to get a feel for exactly what was happening. The sporadic gunfire continued, sometimes close and sometimes seeming to come from farther away. He knew without question that Naji was somehow involved, but their original plan had gone so far south at this point that it was impossible to know exactly how his friend would proceed. On the other hand, the reaction of Bones' captors was easy to predict: if it was Naji they were shooting at, then Naji's cover was clearly blown, which meant that his was as well; that also meant that he had lost the element of surprise against whomever came to let him out of the room. They would be looking for and expecting a fight the moment the door opened.

Booth chanced a glance at Bones over his shoulder. The tears had thankfully stopped, and she was now simply lying still with her eyes closed. He could almost believe she was just sleeping peacefully, if he hadn't been so devastatingly aware otherwise. His stomach lurched at the thought that all he had just put her through might have been completely pointless - exactly how much of what he had just done had happened after his cover was already blown, and he just hadn't known it? Somehow, it just made everything seem worse to know that he might have just destroyed her trust in him for nothing.

He hesitated as he realized he needed to move her to a more shielded location, a sense of dread filling him at the thought of having to go near her again. Not wanting to approach her or even be in the same room with her was definitely a new sensation for him, one he had never imagined he would experience. But it was one he was going to have to overcome, at least for the time being, because the guards were almost certainly going to be coming for them and he needed her cooperation, at the very least.

He strode purposefully toward her, intent on picking her up and moving her somewhere less vulnerable - somewhere that he could keep her safely behind him when he intercepted whoever came through that door. But the closer he got to her the more his step faltered, until finally he drew to a sudden stop a couple feet from the bed. His hands clenched and unclenched uselessly at his side, tension pouring out of every pore in his body.

Suddenly, the _very_ close sound of shouting - two male voices, in Albanian - pushed him into action as he closed the gap between them and reached for her arm to try to gently shake her 'awake'. "Bones! You hear that? C'mon, I've gotta move you." When she didn't respond to his attempt to pull her to a sitting position, he leaned over with an arm under her waist to scoop her up in his arms. He was interrupted by the sound of the lock clicking in the door, notifying him that his attempt to move her was a moment too late. Instantly he released her, crossing the room in three large strides and flattening himself against the wall by the door, not a moment too soon.

A split second later the door was open, a gun the first thing visible breaching the doorway. The gun was followed by the arm holding it as a man came rushing into the room, clearly expecting Booth to be anywhere but just behind the door. Booth's hands shot out in a flash and grabbed hold of the weapon, swinging it around in the opposite direction of Brennan as the gun's owner stubbornly held on, fighting him for control of it.

It should have been a short fight, but his concentration was broken for a moment when another armed guard rushed into the room, ignoring him and making his way straight for Brennan. That allowed Booth's opponent to land a blow to his stomach with a well-placed knee, nearly causing him to lose his grip on the weapon.

But when he heard a startled cry from Bones as the thug obviously reached her and put his filthy hands on her, Booth felt himself lose complete control. He gave himself over to the blind rage pulsing through his body. As though watching it happen from outside his body, he heard his own enraged shout as he wrenched the gun away from his own attacker, who quickly lay dead on the floor. Booth had wasted no time unloading two rounds into his chest at close range.

He whirled around, staying between the remaining guard and the door, weapon pointed with deadly steady hands. If that lowlife thought he had a chance in hell of getting her out that door…

He lowered his gun instantly at what he saw instead, his breath leaving him with a whoosh.

The now empty shackle lay on the bed where the guard had quickly released Brennan from it, before hauling her to her feet to drag her from the room. It would be the last act of his misdirected life. Brennan stood free with her arm still stretched in front of her, a completely shell-shocked look on her face, drained of all color. The guard staggered backwards away from her with an equally shocked look on his own face, a dark red blood stain quickly growing on his shirt around the long, jagged shard of glass sticking out of his chest.

Her knowledge of anatomy had served her well. One look at the man told Booth that there would be no saving him - his injuries would be fatal. Good. But one look at Brennan's face was all it took for Booth to desperately _wish_ he could save him, despite his own lust for vengeance. Without even thinking about it, he knew what he was about to do - knew he would do it gladly to take the burden off her shoulders and place it on his own. Closing the distance in two strides, Booth locked strong arms around the dying crook's neck from behind, one hand clamping over his other arm in the hold he needed to perform his next maneuver. With a sudden violent and skillful twist, the man's neck snapped and he fell to the floor dead. Booth's own hands had ended the gasping, gurgling breaths that he could see tormenting the woman who had caused it.

The open door and any other guards forgotten, Booth turned his attention to Brennan's blue eyes, which were still locked on the dead man on the ground. He didn't even breathe as he moved close to her as he dared, waiting for something - _anything_ \- from her, terrified that the wrong word or move at this moment could completely destroy her. He halfway expected her to shatter onto the floor right before his eyes, like the glass sticking from the dead man's chest. A heartbeat passed, then two, and then three. Finally, she spoke in her normal voice for the first time since he had found her. Her dazed, expressionless words chilled him through and through. "I killed him."

The past 30 minutes momentarily forgotten, Booth only knew he had to get that look off of her face. His hands came up to tenderly frame her cheeks, his tenderness a glaring contrast to his sharp tone as he inserted himself in her line of sight in a bid to draw her attention away from the gruesome sight. " _No!_ I did it, Bones. Not you! You hear me? He could have been saved. _I_ killed him. Look at me. It was _me._ "

Still fixated on the lifeless corpse of the man who would have taken her back to that nightmarish holding area, Brennan gave no indication of hearing Booth. Despite his effort to bring her focus to him, she pushed his hands away and struggled to see around him. Desperate to snap her out of it, forgetting the bruises Tolka had left on her, Booth took hold of her arms just below the shoulders and turned her in his direction to block her view completely. This time he spoke quietly as she slowly focused on him like she had just remembered he was there. She was weakening more by the moment, he could clearly see, both physically and emotionally, and it scared the hell out of him. "You hear me?" he repeated gently. "It's _not_ your hands that killed him, Bones. It was mine - _mine._ Do you understand?"

He watched in fascinated dread as her expression became even more stricken than before. Tears filled her eyes as she dropped her gaze, pulling away from him.

"Bones, what…" he began, holding on and bending his head closer to try to catch her gaze again, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

"I'm sorry," she whispered so quietly that he barely heard it, squeezing her teary eyes shut and robbing him of any clue he might find there. Her body swayed, and he feared she might collapse at any moment.

But she was apologizing to _him_? He flicked his eyes toward the doorway watchfully. He needed to get her out of there, but he also desperately needed her to look at him and give him some clue what was going on in her head before he tried to lead her through the middle of a gun battle.

Another faraway burst of gunfire caused Booth's grip on her arms to tighten protectively. "'Why would you…" he began again, but was interrupted by a gasp as she twisted her arm in his grip, wincing as his fingers dug into the marks Edon had left on her.

Suddenly, all of the events of the past half hour came crashing back down on him. Hard. He released her so quickly she nearly stumbled. Utterly missing her feeling of guilt over having added to his kill list, he misconstrued her reaction to him for something else entirely.

Self-hatred filled him…what had made him think he had the right to touch her anymore? As cold rejection washed over him, a rush of residual anger at the entire situation coursed through his veins. He muttered a soft "I'm sorry" under his breath by way of apology, as he turned his back on her and quickly retrieved his clothes. He pulled on his pants and shoes before sliding on his shirt, not taking the time to button it. Feeling her eyes burning into him the whole time, in what he could only imagine must be accusation, he just shoved the tie unceremoniously in his pants pocket. The suit coat he picked up and held onto uncertainly for a moment before heaving a sigh, exasperated with the situation, himself, and - irrationally - even her. _'Great.'_

Feeling like a complete asshole, he stood so far away that he had to fully extend his arm and lean forward a little bit as he shoved the coat in her general direction. "Here." Refusing to even look at her, he missed the hurt confusion in her eyes at his change in demeanor. When she didn't move to take it, he shook it impatiently. "Brennan…put this on. Now. We have to go."

He never noticed her reaction to his conspicuous nonuse of his name for her. Had his own emotions not been so conflicted, he might have realized how his sudden abrasiveness appeared to her, especially after what had just happened. Knowing her fear of abandonment as he did, he might have even recognized her look for what it was: a mistaken belief that he was now disgusted with her - disgusted that she had forced him to kill barehanded, disgusted by her weakness, disgusted by her in general.

But instead, his own self-recrimination kept his eyes carefully turned away, leaving them to believe the worst of each other's thoughts. He felt rather than saw that she had taken the coat from his hands. Checking the safety, he put the second guard's gun into his pocket, keeping the one he had procured from the first guard ready in his hands. When he had no further preparations to occupy himself, and finally turned to see her simply standing there holding the coat, she was staring at him with a look he could not begin to decipher. Were those tears in her eyes? He felt an irrational surge of anger that she was going to force him to come near her when she so clearly never wanted to be in the same room as him again.

Gritting his teeth, he quickly moved to her. Hating himself more by the moment, he pocketed the gun, snatched the coat from her hands and draped it around her shoulders, careful not to actually touch her. She mechanically shoved her own arms into the sleeves, mercifully saving him from having to touch her skin. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons, and - knowing that they had wasted more than enough time - he used the material of the sleeves to pull her hands away without touching them so he could fasten the buttons himself.

When he looked back at her eyes and saw them locked on his, still full of questions and unshed tears, his expression softened somewhat. He glanced nervously into the hallway beyond the open door before meeting her eyes again. Despite his angry determination not to touch her just moments before, the pendulum of his raging emotions had now shifted and he had to fight the urge to touch her cheek with his fingers. This was not how it was supposed to be when he found her. She'd run to him when he first came through that door, he remembered, wanting to be in his embrace as badly as he'd needed her there. He still needed it. But now it was too late. "We're getting out of here, Bones," he told her softly. "Stay close to me, no matter what."

She actually nodded in response, taking a step closer despite the fact that he had yet to take a step toward the hallway. He tensed, flinching backward away from her proximity like he had been burned. He started for the door, checking over his shoulder to be sure she followed. He wanted to shoot something when he saw how unsteady she still was on her feet, and that he was going to have to help her - which would require touching her. With the guard's gun ready in his right hand, he grabbed her hand with his left as he made his way to the door. "Don't worry," he said quietly, not turning to look at her again and risk seeing the revulsion he expected to be there. "I won't touch you any more than I have to."

ooo. … ooo …

They made it as far as the first corner, just one door down, before things got worse. As Booth slowly edged his way toward the corner, carefully guiding the exhausted Brennan behind him, he had no way of seeing one of the top Albanian bosses slowly edging his own way toward the same corner from the other side. The slight sound of a shoe scraping against the cement floor tipped Booth to his presence only a moment before he turned the corner; he whirled suddenly on Brennan, pushing her back into the room they had come from and flattening her to the wall with his back, effectively putting himself between her and the threat. The man rounded the corner into the room less than a second behind them, and Booth rushed him, unwilling to draw any more attention with gunfire unless absolutely necessary.

Every hand to hand combat skill he had ever learned kicked in at that moment, along with some that were pure street fighting. He quickly divested their attacker of his weapon, and drove an uppercut into his chin. A vicious blow to the throat prevented calling out for reinforcements. Raining repeated blows to the chest and face, Booth soon had the newest arrival on the ground. It was at that moment that he finally got a good look at him. His clothing was not the jeans and dark jackets of the guards. This man was richly dressed in a fancy suit, and Booth quickly recognized him as one of the men in the nightclub that he had identified as one of the ringleaders.

This was one of the men ultimately responsible for what had been done to Bones - for what had been done to both of them. His rage for everything that had been taken from her and from them finally overwhelmed him completely, and he lost the last thread of self-control he had maintained. With one knee shoved in the trafficker's ribs, Booth grabbed him by the throat and began slamming his head onto the ground, again and again. Pure fury burning in his eyes, he didn't intend to stop until he heard the satisfying crunch of the skull that would tell him the man had breathed his last.

But then he heard his name, at first as though from far away, but then drawing closer. "Booth! _Booth_! Booth, stop. Please, don't. Booth!"

As though awakening from a dream, his eyes rose to find the source of the voice. Brennan had moved from away from the wall and stood less than a foot away watching him. It took a moment for him to process the fact that it was she who had spoken, her hands outstretched toward him like she would reach out to physically stop him if she wasn't afraid to touch him. He had stopped by the third time she said his name, but his hands still gripped his opponent's throat.

When their eyes met, even she could correctly identify the rage in his. It sent her hands up to cover her mouth, partially obscuring her face, but he could still see the horror there. It made him want to empty the clips of all three of the dead men's guns he now had, right into Edon Tolka's dead body if he could find him, cursing him for setting all of this in motion. Never had he wanted her to see that side of him, and now that she had there was no taking it back.

The look on her face made him helpless to do anything other than move toward her, so he rose to his feet and did so.

"Bones…"

Meaning only to reach out again for her hand and pull her back out into the hallway - because he could no more have laid another violent hand on their unconscious attacker than he could have laid one on her -he didn't notice the blood covering his hand from where one of his blows had broken the man's nose. But she saw it. And it was like a knife in his gut when she recoiled from his hand.

ooo … ooo … ooo

After leaving the security room, Naji had begun stealthily making his way through the hallways. The stealth approach lasted until he saw the first armed guard, whom he shot on sight and took his gun. It had not been long until he had heard men yelling in Albanian, and even if he hadn't understood Albanian he would have known they were yelling about him. Within 10 minutes, he knew that they had found the two men he had killed in the security room. Making his way through the hallway, he adopted the approach of "shoot first and ask questions later," firing instantly and accurately at every guard that he saw and collecting weapons.

It was slow going, fumbling with the boss's keys to open each door he came to, searching for the room where Booth and Brennan were. Most of the rooms were empty, although he had found one passageway that led to an area full of curtained-off beds with drugged women handcuffed into them. He left that area quickly - that was going to be the responsibility of his four employees who should be arriving momentarily, and they already had their instructions. He needed to find Booth.

Just as he was beginning to feel like a rat lost in a maze, he heard a woman's voice crying out urgently. He began making his way toward it, and as he drew close enough to make out the words his blood ran cold. "Booth! _Booth_! Booth, stop. Please, don't. Booth!"

He broke into a run, rounding the corner into the room just in time to see Dr. Brennan shy away from Booth's outstretched hand. Quickly scanning her appearance, he saw something that neither Booth nor Brennan had yet noticed.

Though he could not see the cut on the back of her leg from where the glass shard had cut into her flesh on the bed, he did see the heavy trickle of blood that had snaked around her leg from it and was now running down the inside of her thigh just below the bottom of Booth's suit coat. Horrified, his eyes tracked involuntarily toward the bed, remembering how _real_ what he had seen on the monitor looked. He was the first to notice the blood staining the sheets, right where her injured thigh had rested.

While Brennan and Booth would have their demons to deal with following this experience, Naji was going to have one of his own. He would forever regret the hasty conclusion he drew, as he charged over and inserted himself between the two of them. The impetuous words that popped out of his mouth uncensored - as his finger twitched on the gun he held - would forever ring in both of their ears - _'Jesus Christ_ , Seeley, what the hell did you _do?'_

TO BE CONTINUED...


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Temperance Brennan was, above all, a scientist. For many years, she had put her confidence in things that could be proven scientifically, things that she could see, hear, touch, taste, and experience for herself. Those things were safe, abiding by scientific laws that could not be changed. Scientific law could not abandon or harm her - it simply existed.

In the four years since she had met Seeley Booth, he had slowly begun to infiltrate her purely scientific world with his less scientific beliefs. He spoke freely of concepts such as love, a metaphoric heart, gut feelings - all of them concepts that she could either explain away as chemical reactions, or simply dismiss out of hand. She initially gave them all very little credence, telling him quite rationally why. But he had remained undaunted, confidently asserting them as fact.

Over time, as she had observed him, more and more of his assertions could no longer be explained away so easily. His "gut", for example, that he insisted upon trusting - it was a completely irrational method, but even she had to admit that the number of times it had been correct must represent more than a statistical anomaly. Even so, the fact that the evidence would almost invariably, in the end, support his "gut feelings" made it acceptable to her - perhaps not hard science, but backed by facts which were indisputable.

She had watched as, over and over again, he read people in ways that she could not begin to understand. The ability alternately impressed and frustrated her, especially when she learned she had little such skill. Still, when he consistently demonstrated the ability over and over, she had accepted it as fact - a theory proven through experimentation. A kind of science in its own right, it was no real threat to her scientific way of thinking; the two could coexist.

And although he had expanded her worldview to the point that she sometimes found herself wondering if magic and breaking the laws of physics might actually _be_ possible, it had happened slowly enough that she had still been able to hold stubbornly to her rationalism, determined to live life based on what she could _see_ and _know_ rather than what she could _feel_ , only occasionally making concession to his romantic notions.

But in stark contrast to Booth's slow, patient method of drilling holes in the scientific walls she had built around herself, this situation was plowing through them with a bulldozer. Not since she was a 15-year-old girl whose entire world collapsed around her in a day had she felt so lost - not since that day had she experienced the completely disorienting sensation that the things she could _see_ right before her eyes might not actually be _real_.

Since the moment she ran toward Booth when he entered that room, and was so roughly treated, she had struggled with believing her own eyes and ears. Was it Booth, there to save her, as she so desperately wanted to believe? Or had her drug-addled mind placed his face onto someone there for far more sinister purposes?

As she was dragged across the room toward the bed, panic gripping her by the throat at the unexpected move, she was relatively certain her eyes had deceived her, and Booth was not there at all.

Certain enough that she struggled to break free. But not quite certain enough to draw her makeshift glass weapon and stab him in the throat with it.

At the worst moment, glass digging into her leg in the bed and certain she was about to be raped, she had not seen Booth at all. It had been Edon Tolka's face above her as her mind went back to her original abduction.

Not being able to trust her own mind was torture for someone like her.

Not being able to trust Booth, when her eyes and ears plainly told her he was there, was worse.

 _Booth._ There were so many things that word meant to her. Warmth. Reassurance. A smile that infuriated her with its ability to draw her in to reciprocating, making her feel human at the times she most wanted to stay cloaked in science - making her feel, period. Guy hugs. An irrational fixation on pie. Overprotectiveness.

To her, all of those things and so many more defined the man she had come to trust above all others.

But despite all the characteristics she ascribed to Booth, ironically it wasn't until he killed the guards who came back for her….the first in the room, then the one she had stabbed, and finally the one whose skull he was attempting to smash into the ground…that she was certain it was him. She was equally certain he had killed them on her behalf. It was enough to pull her away from her huddled place against the wall with the last of her strength to stop him from adding to his kill list one more time.

She still wasn't prepared for the rage in his face as he looked up at her with his fingers squeezing a man's throat. Wasn't prepared for the question in her mind of who he was most angry at…himself for killing again, or her for making him.

She reeled. She couldn't think about it anymore. She was so tired. Her mind was tired. Her body was tired. She needed more of the drugs. She needed Booth to be Booth.

Most of all, she needed someone to catch her, because she was about to hit the ground.

ooo . ooo … ooo

A thick tension hung in the air in the immediate aftermath of Naji's question - words which seemed to echo and swirl around the three of them, ringing in each of their ears with an entirely different meaning.

Naji's frame remained tight and tense as he maintained his protective position between Booth and Brennan, wanting to find any explanation other than what all of the evidence seemed to point toward. His finger was still worrying the trigger of the gun that he held, which was not fully pointed at Booth but was not exactly resting by his side either. It didn't seem possible that Seeley Booth could have ever done such a horrible thing. And yet…

Naji had watched with great concern from the moment they had rendezvoused in Lisbon, as Booth had seemed at times to spiral further and further out of control. That thought filled him with uneasiness now as he remembered that he had questioned several times already whether Booth was ready to snap or not. But then at other times, when any real action was called for, he had been firmly in control and focused on what he needed to do, his deep love for this woman demonstrated in his every action.

As the seconds ticked by in a silence so dense it could almost be felt, Naji's knowledge of the man's character caused him to begin second guessing his hasty conclusion. He felt the beginnings of regret as he slowly began to lower his weapon - until he saw a wild fury rising in his old friend's eyes, and at the same time it struck him that Booth was not exactly denying anything.

Brennan swayed, vision doubling as she stared at the back of Naji's head, trying to ascertain what was going on. He had called Booth by name, so obviously they knew each other. This was the man who, when she had been seconds away from stabbing him, had used the word Paladin to let her know Booth was coming. Why, then, was he standing between them now, as though defending her from Booth? Was he questioning him about the three bodies littering the room in which they now stood? But then why would he sound so accusing, when he himself held a gun in each hand?

As with every other new puzzle that she had been presented with in this predicament, this one was too much for her overtaxed brain and body to deal with. She could feel the room beginning to spin as she tried to process it, unaware of the growing amount of blood dripping down from the unattended cut on her leg - blood that neither she nor Booth had yet noticed.

Booth stared at Naji standing between them. While he did not immediately catch the exact implication of Naji's question, his stance and the way he held his gun were unmistakably threatening. A myriad of emotions raced through Booth's heart - shock, hurt, anger, confusion, pain, disbelief, betrayal - until finally he settled on one. The thick current of anger that had been coursing through him since he first saw Brennan flinch away from him still needed an outlet, especially since she had stopped his fight before his rage could be satisfied. He could not and would not take it out on her any further, so Naji provided a convenient target.

Booth took one aggressive step forward, causing Naji to finally point the gun fully at him in reaction. "What the hell are you talking about?" Booth hissed, still not understanding the full impact of what Naji thought had happened, and not really caring at the moment. His muscles tensed dangerously at the sight of someone between him and Brennan in this situation…someone armed. "Get _away_ from her," he ground out through gritted teeth.

Naji forced his voice to remain calm, determined to protect all three of them if he could, unwilling to have to make the kind of decision he was quickly beginning to fear would be required of him. His hand never flinched and his voice did not waver as he took a step forward and spoke quietly, not wanting Brennan to hear what he had to say. "I'll be glad to, just as soon as you make me understand. I heard her, Seel, begging you to stop. It's how I _found_ you. And I know what I saw, both here and through the cameras. Exactly how far did you have to take your performance?"

He had used the word 'performance' to give Booth the benefit of the doubt. He didn't realize Booth would take the question completely literally, missing Naji's careful implication that it had gone way past being a performance into something far worse.

All of the fight drained out of Booth as his actions flooded back on him anew, redirecting his anger inward. He could only conclude that Naji had heard Brennan's desperate plea for him to stop slamming the man's head into the ground, and had taken it to believe that she was afraid he was going to attack her again. That, to him, was bad enough. The only movement visible was the tic of his jaw muscle and the clenching of his fists.

It never occurred to him to defend himself. After all, he thought bitterly, he deserved it, didn't he? Obviously even Naji had seen that she _was_ scared of him - so did it really matter why? Whether Naji had heard her begging him to stop because she was physically afraid of him, or because he was scaring her by trying to crush the skull of the man responsible for it, what difference did it make? Both were interchangeable, straight out of his worst nightmares.

His voice was ragged when he answered. "I guess you're right. Can't blame her for being scared of me." He watched Naji flinch, saw the disbelief, anger and sadness in his expression, but didn't realize what he had unintentionally confessed to. He still knew nothing of the blood, his view of Brennan blocked by Naji.

This time, Naji wasn't able to keep his tone quite as steady, and his voice cracked as he asked his question. "You've gotta be - _shit,_ Seeley, what _happened?"_ The anger began to edge out the sadness in his voice, and he completely forgot about keeping his voice too low for Brennan to hear him. In addition, he couldn't stop the accusing tone that crept in as his voice rose with every word. "And maybe this time you might want to start with the pool of blood on the fucking sheets over there! She's bleeding, you asshole. _"_

Booth's head snapped toward the bed when Naji mentioned the sheets; he could almost feel the color draining out of his face when he finally saw the blood, automatically understanding the implication of its exact location on the bed. But before he could even begin to stop reeling, his mind registered the rest of Naji's words.

If his heart had not already been broken, it would have shattered irrevocably on the floor when he remembered his own earlier worries that he might not have been the first client arranged for her.

As Naji had done earlier, he also now arrived at the only conclusion possible based on the evidence in front of him: someone must have hurt her, in this room, in that bed, possibly only minutes before he got there. He felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut. How could he have not noticed? How could he have done what _he_ did to her afterward, holding her down in the same bed? No wonder she had been screaming. Again, he remembered her small, terrified whimper when he had first backed her up against the bed, and he thought he would be sick. He could not even begin to fathom how much damage he must have unintentionally added.

Instantly, he began to move in her direction, not even sure what he was going to do when he got to her - he just needed to _be_ there. Just as immediately, Naji surged forward and pushed his hands against his chest, guns and all, shoving him backward away from her. "Nuh-uh. Hell, no. Not happening, Seeley. I'm not letting you near her, not until I know you're back in your right mind."

Booth ignored him, intent on shoving past him and getting to his partner, who had remained strangely silent throughout the entire exchange. As he collided with Naji again, trying to push past him, he was able to look past his shoulder and finally see the blood on her. What Naji had seen as a heavy trickle, snaking around from the back of her leg to run down the inside of one thigh, was now, thanks to her movements, a smeared mess on the inside of both thighs as Booth saw it for the first time. Brennan stood, looking down at the blood smearing her legs, her face ghostly pale.

When Booth saw that, it froze his struggles just long enough for Naji to shove him off of him and violently backwards one more time, aiming the gun right at him as his voice rose again. "I don't want to shoot you, Booth, so back the hell off while I figure out what to do! You're not touching her again right now!"

Now that he had seen the blood, the realization finally hit Booth, and it hit him hard. " _Jesus..._ Naji, you think _I_ did that?" He staggered backward a couple steps, as though he had been struck with a physical blow. His voice was barely more than an agonized whisper on his next words, but for some self-punishing reason he had to say it - had to know. "You think I _raped_ her?"

At the clearly tortured sound of Booth's voice when he asked the question, doubt flooded Naji's features. No, he really _didn't_ think so, and hadn't been able to fully believe it even when it had seemed like Booth was confessing to it. The question hung in the air above his head, taunting him. The next move was clearly his, and he knew some type of small concession or show of trust was in order if he had any hope of this ending in anything other than tragedy. He also knew that mere words weren't going to be sufficient.

Although he was still unwilling to move from in front of Brennan - he had to be sure before he could do that - he pointedly lowered and put away his weapons, intending it as a show of good faith. He knew it would be one hell of a fistfight if he were making a mistake, and he couldn't truthfully say who would come out on top. Their military training was equal, and both men were in top physical condition with further training for their respective professions.

Slowly, Naji held his hands out to the sides, palms facing outward, emphasizing the fact that he was now unarmed, hoping to rebuild some trust between them. Cautiously, he opened his mouth to speak. "Seeley, listen..."

But Booth was looking past him, at Brennan, and Naji saw his expression suddenly change as a look of panic crossed his face. "Bones!" Booth called out, his voice stricken.

Instinctively, Naji started to turn in her direction to see what had caused Booth's reaction. But before his head could even turn far enough to see her, a flash of movement in his peripheral vision snapped his head back toward Booth.

Soundlessly and without any warning, Booth had again rushed forward and was trying to pass him to get to Brennan. Caught off guard by the sudden unexpected movement, it was all Naji could do to catch him by the shirt and use his momentum to spin him around. Both men quickly had each other by the collar, nose to nose, pulling and grappling to gain the upper hand. Anger was evident on both of their faces - one at being tricked, the other at being wrongfully accused, both of them at the strong sense of betrayal they felt - and neither was willing to let go.

"Booth! Booth..." Brennan's weak voice cut through the intensity, more than enough to stop them both in their tracks. She had caught both of their attention, and two heads whirled simultaneously to the side to see her. She was wavering on her feet, on the very verge of collapse, having characteristically waited until the last possible moment to call attention to the fact that she needed help. Both men sprang apart and to her side as she crumpled, catching her together less than half a heartbeat before she could hit the ground.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

For the first few moments after they caught the collapsing Brennan, Booth and Naji were back on the same page, the tension between the two of them forgotten as they fell into the old, familiar pattern of teaming with each other effortlessly.

Working together, they lowered her gently to the floor, cushioning her head on the suit coat that Naji was quick to discard and fold into a makeshift pillow. Quickly, Naji's fingers were against her neck - "Pulse is strong." Booth had immediately bent to check her breathing, and was relieved to find it steady and even - "She's breathing." His haunted eyes rested on her face, and the fingers of one hand were were tender against her cheek as he tried to wake her. "Bones! Bones! C'mon, Bones, wake up." There was no reply.

When Booth started to reach his other hand out to check her pulse for himself, Naji's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist to stop him. He hadn't noticed it before, but had just seen the now smeared blood on the back of Booth's hand from the man he had pummeled - the same blood that had caused Brennan to pull away from Booth just as Naji entered the room, though neither man immediately made the connection. His own protective instincts still working overtime, Naji was unable to stop the brief uneasiness that shot through him from his earlier suspicions. He couldn't help but question if the blood was Brennan's, and how it came to be on Booth's hand. And Booth could see it when the men's eyes met.

With a resigned sigh, Booth pulled his hands away from her, wiping off the blood on his pants legs and resting back against his heels where he knelt beside her. The fury on his face as he anxiously watched for any change in Brennan was enough to settle things for Naji. No doubt was left in his mind that Booth was not the one who had hurt her. Suddenly, he wondered how he could have ever believed that he _had_ , even in the face of such overwhelming circumstantial evidence. He also wondered how to go about fixing his mistake.

Neither man having yet seen the cut on her leg, both still firmly believed the blood to be clear evidence of what they thought had happened to her, though at least both were now in agreement as to who was behind it. While the thought of such an act angered Naji, it was enough to destroy Booth.

In heavy contrast to the emotion visible in his face, his voice was expressionless and almost cold with his next words, and his eyes never once left Brennan's face. "She has to get out of here. Right now. Naji, you get her out of this building. Get her straight to the plane, and get in the air. Don't stop for anything. You just get her out."

He never looked at Naji to see the shocked surprise evident in his expression, but the incredulity in Naji's tone was perfectly sufficient to express it. "While you do what, exactly?"

Booth was already on his feet, rechecking the weapons he had collected. Naji watched, speechless, as Booth knelt and leaned back over Brennan. His words were directed to Naji, but his eyes were glued on her as he spoke. His hand reached out as though to touch her face, but he seemed to think better of it, his jaw clenching as his hand dropped back to his side. "While I make sure there's nobody left alive _to_ stop you."

"And then you'll be on the plane?" Naji knew the answer before he asked the question.

"I think you know who I'm going after." Booth's face was an unreadable mask, his voice hard, his eyes still locked on his partner. He never even looked at Naji as he gestured in the direction of the blood on her legs. "I want the son of a bitch that did _that_ to her."

Although he still never looked at him, he could sense Naji preparing his logical argument and cut him off. "And don't tell me how he's some nameless client I'll never find. You and I both know I can and I will. I'll _make_ somebody talk, and we both know I can do that too. The guy that did this to her is mine. You don't have to understand it. You just have to get her out _-_ of this building and this country. And then get her to a hospital. Make sure they know..." His jaw clenched around the last sentence before he could finish it, the words like acid to his tongue. Naji would know what to tell them. He didn't have to say it - couldn't say it. "Just get her out," he settled for.

"Seeley," Naji ventured, "just listen for a second..." But Booth was having none of it, his back already turned as he made his way to the door. "Just do it, Naji," he threw over his shoulder with a disgusted wave of his arm, gun in hand. "You don't trust me anywhere near her anyway. And neither does she." The last four words he added almost as an afterthought on his way through the door, though Naji heard both the statement and the tone of self-hatred loud and clear.

With a vehement curse, Naji started maneuvering to lift her. He had no choice but to follow, and he knew it. But as he pulled her arm up to drape it over his shoulder, the hem of Booth's suit coat which she still wore began to ride up. Despite the delicate nature of its location, he could not stop his eyes from being drawn back toward the blood. It was only then, as the upper portion of her leg above the suit coat was revealed, that he noticed that the blood trail began right at the bottom edge of the coat - no higher. "Hey Seeley! You need to see this!" Without waiting to see if Booth was still there and had heard him, he put her back down and began to inspect further.

Something in his voice had stopped Booth in his tracks, the fact that he really did not want to hear anything Naji had to say notwithstanding. Somehow he knew this was important. He returned through the door to see Naji leaning over Brennan, his hands on her leg, gingerly trying to turn it.

No matter how much he trusted him, the sight of Naji's hands - _any_ man's hands - on her naked thigh was enough to make him flinch, especially considering the circumstances. He was at their sides instantly, near his breaking point, fighting to quell the overwhelming urge to push Naji's hands off of her and knock him into the middle of next week. He wasn't sure how much more any of them could take. But in the time it took him to kneel, he had already noticed what Naji wanted him to see. The blood smearing the inside of her thighs was not coming from the juncture of her legs.

The feeling of relief that flooded Booth was so profound that it almost knocked him down. For just a moment, he forgot to even be concerned about the amount of blood or where it _was_ coming from, so great was his relief about where it _wasn't_ coming from. His head dropped, eyes closing as his breath left him all at once. Naji was still gingerly turning her leg, lifting and gently examining the back of it, and after a moment Booth realized that he was saying something to him. "There's a bandage back here on the back of her thigh, but that's not where the blood's coming from. There's a cut just to the side of it, closer to the inside of her leg. Why the hell would they cut her?"

While Naji was speaking, Booth moved to angle his body where he could see for himself. Whether consciously or not, his new position edged Naji out of the way, his own hands replacing Naji's as he took over the examination. "It's not too deep, but it's still bleeding."

"Yeah, I saw it. Seel, we're gonna need to get that stopped before we try to move her out of here. Help me put her on the bed." The words were barely out of Naji's mouth before he knew that wasn't happening. Booth's frame tensed so much at the suggestion that he looked like he could break in half, and Naji cringed. It wasn't as though tact had ever been his strong point in the first place, but still... "Yeah," he cleared his throat and continued, "bad idea. Right here will work fine too. I don't suppose you've got a first aid kit on you?"

Booth didn't answer the obviously rhetorical question, one hand already pulling his tie back out of his pocket and applying pressure to her new wound. Allowing Naji to move in and support her leg for him, he carefully peeled back the bandage over her original cut with his other hand. "She was cut before. This looks half healed - it's scabbed over."

Naji shrugged. "I still don't get why they would cut her, but if she already lost a lot of blood _before_ it might explain why she's passing out on us _now_. It's smeared to hell and gone, but I just don't see enough blood here to make her lose consciousness."

Booth nodded slowly, his look thoughtful. "Maybe not normally, but she's in shock too. She flipped out on me completely - looked right through me like she thought I was somebody else." The memory was clearly painful to him, but he pressed on as he started to put two and two together. "She was screaming like I was _hurting_ her, before I ever even touched her - just as soon as she landed on her back on the…." His eyes wandered toward the man Brennan had stabbed, some of the pieces starting to fall into place. "She had a piece of..."

"Glass." Naji finished with him, following his eyes to the man on the ground. "Yeah, I should have remembered that. She damn near stabbed me with the thing." At Booth's sharp glance he continued, a trace of his normal flippancy reentering his voice as their interaction eased back into something close to normal. "Okay, so I left out a few details. Don't look at me like that. We didn't have a lot of time, and I was more concerned with you beating the hell out of somebody and blowing our cover if I didn't prepare you for how they had her dressed."

Booth did not get the chance to reply. The distant sound of shouting voices reached his ears, clearly conveying the message that they were going to have to move quickly. Reinforcements were beginning to arrive, and they could not stay there forever. Booth looked at Brennan's unconscious face, another stab of pain hitting him right in the heart when images of her fear of him filled his mind. His decision was made quickly. "Same play, Naji. You get her out of here, just as soon as you can move her. Straight to the plane. I'm going to create a distraction, lure their fire away from the two of you so you can get her out safely."

Naji had to try one more time, even as he obeyed Booth's gestured directions to take over for him in putting pressure on her wound. "Why don't you let me do that, Seeley? I can draw their fire as easily as you can."

Booth shook his head, his look determined. "No. It's too important. I need to do this myself." The determined look was quickly edged out by one of sadness, and Naji did not miss the transition. "Besides, after what I did..."

A small sound drew Booth's attention immediately to Brennan, and he noticed she was beginning to come around. For reasons he could not begin to explain, panic gripped him and he needed to go _right then_. He wouldn't be able to leave her if he looked in her eyes, but he was also more than a little terrified of what he might find there. If she responded with fear when she woke up and saw him, it was going to be the end of him.

But before he could leave, he could not stop himself from leaning down to brush his lips across her forehead. He may not have realized that he was looking at her as though it might be the last time he would ever see her, but Naji certainly recognized it for what it was - a goodbye.

Booth was on his feet and halfway out the door, gun in hand, when Naji caught up to him and grabbed his arm. Before he could even protest about the fact that Naji was no longer attending to Brennan's wound, he saw the deadly serious look in his friend's eye. "Fine, Seeley. We do this your way. I guess I sorta owe you that one. But that plane doesn't take off until you're on it." Pausing, he turned slightly to point toward Brennan. "You want _her_ out of Albania? Be on the damn plane. Be on the damn plane, or she's waiting there while I come back to get you. I didn't come all this way to leave you here dead, whether we're on speaking terms right now or not. You got it?"

Booth's small, tight nod was all the response Naji got before he was out the door, his stride purposeful as he headed straight toward the swiftly approaching voices.

Naji's mouth was a grim line as he turned back toward Brennan, who seemed to still be slowly coming around though her eyes were not yet open. He was going to have to move quickly to make their escape, but he still had to do something about that cut first. He needed a bandage - a real one. He cringed at the quick, easy option that crossed his mind. _'It's unsanitary as all hell, but I'm out of time here'_ he thought to himself, realizing that his main objective was to stop the bleeding. They could disinfect and clean later. Carefully lifting her, he moved her to the bed and gently rolled her to her stomach so that he could have access to the wound. He knew Booth would probably have a coronary if he saw her back on that bed again, but time was of the essence and he was working alone now. His inner Booth-voice was just going to have to take a back seat.

After checking to make sure her head was turned to the side where she could breathe easily, he swiftly pulled the bandage loose from the old cut. With the wry thought that his first aid teachers would shoot him for risking infection like this, he transferred the bandage and pressed it hard against the still lightly bleeding new wound, trying to make it stick. Grabbing Booth's tie that he had been using to apply pressure, he ignored his own discomfort when he had to push her legs slightly apart to tie it tightly around her leg over the bandage - not enough to form a tourniquet, but enough to help keep it in place.

That task taken care of, he quickly released her leg and rolled her to her back, noticing that her eyes were beginning to flutter open. Naji moved to pick up his suit coat from the floor where she had rested her head on it, and reached inside. He pulled out the two syringes he had carefully held onto since he purchased them on his way into Vlore the last time, after having spoken with Dr. Saroyan and Dr. Hodgins. They were the only items he had dared try to sneak past the guards at the door. And though they had found them when they had patted him down, he had not reacted as though anything was amiss. And they had never questioned him. Booth had, thankfully, never noticed them at all. Naji found himself shaking his head and muttering as he uncapped the first one. "Won't let me bring in my gun or even a damn pocketknife, but drugs and rape they've got no problem with. Bastards. I really, really hate this place."

Just before he injected her with the first syringe, he saw her eyes open and slowly focus on him. When he saw them widen slightly at the sight of the needle, he put a soothing tone into his voice as he spoke to her. "Dr. Brennan, it's all right. I've talked with your friends Dr. Saroyan and Dr. Hodgins. They were able to identify some of the drugs you were given, and this will help counteract the effects." She relaxed slightly and allowed him to carry through.

He hesitated slightly before uncapping the second one, aware that after what her body had been through it could be dangerous. Deciding it was a necessary risk, he showed her the second syringe. "This one is my doing. Your friends have probably never heard of it. It's a fast-acting stimulant, of sorts. I'm familiar with it - I had it used on me once when I was injured on a mission. It's definitely not FDA approved and it won't last long, but it will clear your mind and get you on your feet long enough to help me get you out of here. Injured or not, you'll feel like your normal self for a while, if a little jumpy. I can't promise you're going to like it when it starts to wear off, though."

Seeing her approval - both of the drug and his honesty - he injected her and watched a few moments as the stimulant began to take effect. He could see her eyes clearing, and he moved away to allow her to push herself up to a sitting position. When she spoke, her voice sounded strong, all things considered. "Who are you?"

Naji had not spent all of his military years being friends with Seeley Booth and not learned a thing or two about a decent charm smile. Pulling one now that he hoped would help set her at ease as he waited to be sure she was okay to travel, he extended a hand to help her to her feet. "Naji Basara's the name. I'm a friend."

She continued to study him carefully, a small frown visible on her face as she ignored his outstretched hand and stood easily, her arms crossing. "Whose friend? Booth's?"

If it had been a different situation he might have felt a slight sting at her complete disregard of his best dazzling smile. As it was, he realized with some amusement that she was exactly what he expected from Booth's description of her. Good. This he could deal with, much more easily than he could with a stereotypical damsel in distress. "Yes, Booth's friend; and yours too, at the moment. Booth asked for my help to resc- to find you," he amended. She was just the type who'd spend the next 10 minutes taking issue with the word 'rescue.' Gunshots rang out from some distance down the hallway, and he saw her startle. He was quick to try to set her at ease again. "Probably just Booth. He's busy causing a distraction while I get you out of here. He's going to meet us on the plane."

Blue eyes met his own dark brown ones. "Then what are we waiting for?"

This time his smile was completely genuine and unforced. If anybody he'd ever met would be able to keep Seeley Booth on his toes...

Drawing his weapon and motioning for her to stay close, Naji started for the door. "Not a thing. Let's go."

ooo ... ooo ... ooo

Booth had made his way from the room, clearing each hallway as he went. He quickly located the source of the shouting voices he had heard from inside the room; he fired on sight, shooting to kill and collecting ammunition from his targets, determined that Naji would have a clear passageway to carry Brennan through. He could allow no mistakes, have no mercy, leave nothing standing behind him. All of his senses were on full alert as his training came back to him effortlessly.

He had cleared the hallways all the way to the exit into the club and begun doubling back to meet Naji and Brennan when it happened. He had only made his way back two passageways from the exit, and his ears alerted him to the presence of a large group of men coming through the door, making their way in his direction at a rapid pace. Judging by the sounds of the voices and footsteps, he estimated close to 10 men. That told him two things: whoever was in charge must have more than one such location with plenty of disposable thugs at their beck and call; and somebody in charge was still alive, able to call for reinforcements. Despite the implications of there being more warehouses like this one, it was the second realization that again began to stoke the rage in him. Someone responsible for this nightmare was still standing, possibly watching him on the cameras in that security room at this very moment - possibly watching her.

To slow his approaching attackers down, he fired the last two shots from his current clip in their direction, then turned the next corner and flattened himself against the wall to replace the clip in his gun. He was in the longest of the hallways, off of which every door was locked. He could blast his way into a room, but he was unwilling to waste a shot to trap himself in a room, effectively removing himself from between them and Brennan. The possible cover it would provide was not worth taking the risk that some would get past him and to her before he could even slow them down. There were some small alcoves along the long hallway, and he would have to settle for those.

He knew he was in over his head, even as he drew a second full weapon for his left hand. The best he could hope for was to hold them off as long as he could, taking out as many of them as he could before they got him. That was all he could do, besides praying that Naji was still a good enough shot to pick off the rest of them when they got to his location, even carrying Brennan.

He forced himself to wait and allow his finger to relax on the trigger until he could hear they were nearing the corner he hid behind. Leaning around the corner in a lightning-fast motion, he instantaneously spotted and took out the first two, with two shots fired off in quick succession with perfect aim. Immediately, he retreated farther up the hallway, ducking into the tiny alcove of a recessed doorway, so small it barely concealed him. Shouts were filling the air in a muffled cacophony, making it difficult to ascertain their exact location. Chancing another sudden lean from behind his cover, another perfect and direct shot led to more screams. He had picked the man off just as he rounded the corner. This time, however, fire was returned, and he pressed himself into the alcove more deeply as shots whizzed by, whistling off of the wall that hid him.

ooo ... ooo ... ooo

Brennan and Naji quickly made it past three different corners and multiple guards lying dead on the floor, and they were only two passageways away from the exit before the shouting and gunfire drew too close for comfort. With a quick glance that verified she was still strong and lucid, Naji pulled her into the cover of a small alcove, took out the last gun he had collected, and extended it toward her. "Here. In case anything happens to me. I take it you know what to do with one of these?"

She never even hesitated as she took the gun from him, expertly checking it and turning off the safety. Naji chuckled a little, his voice showing he approved. "Yeah. You hang out with Seeley. Of course you know what to do."

Despite her almost overeager willingness to take the gun, she was looking at him seriously, if a bit strangely. "I _am_ an excellent shot, but not because of Booth. He very rarely lets me have a gun."

Naji's eyebrow went up at that one. At least she was really talking now, and there was definitely a story there. They needed to be on the move, but he just couldn't help it - he had, after all, just put a gun in her hands, so this could be valuable information in a few ways. "That doesn't sound like Seeley. What'd you do, shoot him or something?"

She at least had the good graces to look and sound a little defensive when she offered her completely serious answer. "Only once."

Naji's eyebrow rose a little higher, but the corner of his lip was pulling upward a little as his trademark smirk began to implant itself firmly on his face. He had only been kidding...

"Oh, only once? Well, I know Seeley, and that seems pretty reasonable."

That small frown he had seen on her face earlier was back. "It was just a flesh wound! The bullet ricocheted off of my imitation Amazonium bracelet." Her voice was imperious, dismissive, indicating the conversation was over - "But Booth wouldn't let me have a gun before that, either."

Naji's smirk grew and his eyes sparkled with mirth as he nodded uselessly. He couldn't have been more lost trying to follow that story if he had tried. But he knew he was going to let her keep the gun anyway, regardless of what that might say about his own sanity. "Well then I guess it's a good thing I'm not Booth, huh? You get a gun, _and_ maybe you won't shoot me."

His eyes grew serious as gunfire erupted once again, very close this time, just around the next corner at the other end of the long hallway they were on. Unintelligible shouts filled the air - a large number of them - and he motioned for her to press closer to the wall as he gave last minute instructions. "There's our cue: time to go. While we're on the topic of Seeley, just make sure it's not him you shoot...again. He's going to be somewhere right in the middle of it, so be sure before you fire. Anybody else you see, you don't hesitate. Stay behind me as much as possible. Try not to shoot _me,_ either. And if you start to feel weak, I need to know _before_ you're about to hit the ground. Yeah?"

She nodded her agreement, holding her gun at the ready, but immediately tried to step out of the alcove before him. Naji had been ready for her. He was definitely starting to get the idea. He stepped around her easily, still hidden from view of the hallway, resuming the lead position and shaking his head in mock disbelief as he did so. "Whoa! Jeez, I said _behind_ me - as in, the opposite of _in front of_. You wanna keep that gun, or not?"

Yep, Naji mused with a grin that he carefully hid from her, Seeley Booth had his hands full with this one. Not that it mattered even one little bit, but Naji definitely approved. It would serve Booth right: both for being such an all around good guy, _and_ for being such a complete pain in the ass occasionally.

ooo ... ooo ... ooo

Booth mentally reviewed every aspect of the long hallway he was in as he risked another shot, ducking around the edge of the wall as he fired from inside the tiny alcove. He knew he could not maintain this position for much longer before the guards would figure out their advantage and begin advancing. He had catalogued every detail of his escape route as he had cleared the hallways, and he knew there was a larger alcove farther back down the hall. It would be a huge risk, but he needed to try to make it. He stuck his arm out, firing off several rapid-fire shots that he hoped would send them scattering for cover. Almost before the sound ceased, he had his weapons changed out, making sure he had a fully loaded gun in each hand.

A quick glance told him that his pursuers had all gone to ground out of sight, and he darted out from his position, firing as he proceeded backwards along the wall toward the next alcove. He was within 25 feet when shots started to ring out, one seeming to zing right over his shoulder. He saw all three of the men at the end of the hallway, weapons raised as they advanced toward him. Ducking, he fired two shots and watched in mild confusion as all three men fell. It was only then that he registered that some of the shots he heard had come from behind him. Spinning, he saw a familiar face leaning around from behind the edge of the alcove he was going for, gun in hand. Knowing Naji would provide any other cover fire needed, he sprinted the last part of the distance. The odds had just evened up.

ooo ... ooo ...

The very moment that Naji had started to set foot out of the alcove, he had immediately pushed back in, shoving Brennan back behind him. "Stay down!" The sight that had greeted him was Booth, backing his way toward them, firing all the way. He saw the three men at the end of the hallway, rounding the corner and advancing toward Booth with weapons drawn, already firing. He fired off a round, right into the man on the left. He had guessed right. Booth had hit the middle one and the one on the right.

ooo ... ooo ...

Booth slid into the small space hiding Brennan and Naji, his eyes growing wide. He had expected to see an unconscious or half-conscious Brennan slumped on the floor where Naji would have deposited her in order to assist him. Instead, a fully conscious Brennan crouched in the back by the wall, gun in hand, her eyes bright and clear and locked on his face. It completely threw him off kilter, and he stopped for a minute and just stared. Both hands hung awkwardly by his sides, guns forgotten as he shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure what to do or say. His normal response would have been to grab her and hug her, but…

He had only just realized that he had been preparing himself for never seeing her again, and he was at a complete loss for what to do now that she was there. "What...how..."

Her huge blue eyes were staring back at him, startling a bit as Naji continued to fire. She seemed to have just as much uncertainty how to proceed as he did. She decided on the safe, unemotional route of answering his question; but, predictably, she had completely misunderstood it. Holding up the gun, she indicated Naji with a nod of her head. "He gave it to me."

A sudden snort followed by another gunshot from Naji's direction brought both of their attention to him. "Traitor," he threw over his shoulder at her good-naturedly. "Seel, nice to see ya." He fired twice more, ducking back in as a shot zinged off the wall by his head, a little too close. "But if you're done enjoying the view, I could use a second to reload. There's a great gunfight going on out here. You might enjoy it." Booth was already kneeling at his side by the time he finished speaking, weapon at the ready. Naji's tone had been light, but his request for help was a serious one.

He reloaded quickly, his tone now matching the seriousness of the situation as he kept his voice low enough for only Booth to hear. "We've got to push 'em back and gain some ground so we can get her out of here. She may seem like herself now, but she's not going to last much longer like this if more keep coming. We can't just wait 'em out. I gave her something to get her on her feet and stabilize her mood, but when it wears off she's gonna crash, hard."

Booth accepted that readily. "Then let's do this." He turned to face Brennan, and her eyes met his so naturally and normally that it pulled at his heart to remember just how messed up things were. "Bones, time to go." He resisted the urge to help her to her feet, instead rising at the same time as she did to keep their eyes locked. Naji was firing again, but Booth ignored it, drawn like a magnet to take one step closer to her. "You s _tay. Behind me._ Let me shield you. For once in your life, Bones, just do what I say - Keep back. _"_

For some reason he didn't understand, Naji had that ever-present smirk on his face as they prepared to emerge for what was going to be a very dangerous rush to gain ground and make their final escape - every shot would have to be perfect. "Yeah. Good luck with that one."

ooo ... ooo ...

With Brennan behind them, Booth and Naji surged out of the alcove and into the hallway, practically shoulder to shoulder. Firing as they rapidly advanced, Booth took out the one immediately visible guard near the end of the hallway. Both men saw the two guards who retreated around the corner out of sight before either had a chance to fire. Naji and Booth cautiously slowed their pace immediately, causing Brennan to run directly into Booth's back. The mock-irritated, longsuffering glance or joking comment he would have normally afforded her in such a situation was nowhere to be found. Having opted this time to carry only one weapon so he could have a free hand in case Brennan needed help, that one free hand immediately surrendered its supporting role beneath his gun. In a heartbeat, it found its way behind him and around to the back of her waist, steadying her against his back for just a split second before letting go and returning to his gun.

Never once did his eyes break focus on the end of the hall in front of him, not even when he felt her hand rest lightly on his shoulder at the same moment he steadied her; not even when her sudden exhalation of breath tickled the back of his neck, gone almost before he noticed it as she took a step back. This wasn't his first gunfight - not by a long shot - but if she had lingered against his back she would have surely felt his heart thudding in his chest as though it were trying to escape. It had nothing to do with her touch. Hyper aware of her presence behind him, he knew exactly how much danger they were all in and just how real the possibility was that he might not be able to protect her. His eye was not going to blink and his hand was not going to waver, no matter what, but he could not control his rapid heartbeat at the thought that it just might not be enough.

Though he knew exactly how many steps it would take to traverse that hallway, the knowledge being locked firmly enough in his head that he could have done it blindfolded, it still seemed to stretch out interminably in front of him. There were at least two more guards that they knew of, and possibly more, who could pop back around that corner at any time, firing on them with no possibility of finding cover. As they stealthily approached the second small alcove that Booth had hidden in earlier - the one that was barely big enough to conceal him - Booth's steps sped up as he closed the gap on it. His left hand again left its supporting position beneath his weapon, reaching back blindly to grab Brennan's hand and pull her along behind him at a matching pace. When he gently but firmly pushed her into the relative safety of the small space and then backed up to it, blocking her in and shielding her with his own body, he let out a breath he had not even realized he had been holding.

His eyes met Naji's, who nodded in understanding. With his back against the opening to the alcove and his gun trained on the corner now only a few yards before them, Booth stayed at the ready to provide cover fire as Naji stealthily crept along the wall toward the corner. He flattened himself against it for a moment, edging as close to the end as possible before taking a deep breath and rounding the corner gun-first.

Chaos broke out immediately, the sound of gunshots filling the air. Rather than retreating back around the corner, Naji instead disappeared as the hail of gunfire continued. In response, Booth immediately pressed backward, pushing Brennan a little more securely into the tiny space. "Stay here, Bones! Don't _move_ until I come back to get you."

The next events happened so quickly that, afterward, neither Booth nor Naji could have given an accurate chronological version of what occurred. One moment Booth was approaching the corner; in the next, the sound of gunshots and shouting filled the air, so many that it was impossible to distinguish between them. In what seemed to be the next moment, four more bodies littered the ground and Booth and Naji were the only two standing. The hallway was almost eerily quiet, their path to the exit unobstructed. Nothing now lay between them and the door leading into the club, beyond which it was only a short few steps to freedom.

What Naji _would_ be able to accurately describe until the day he died was the look on Booth's face when that silence was suddenly broken by the sound of a single gunshot ringing out from behind them…behind them, in Brennan's direction. And then a thud, very close by. And then silence. All in the span of two heartbeats.

ooo ... ooo ...

As though they saw it happen in slow motion, Booth and Naji spun together to see the guard lying on the ground just a couple yards behind them at the corner, gun still clasped in his outstretched arm. The implication was clear to them both, but especially terrifying to Booth. Somehow, someone had come from behind them. Neither he nor Naji had shot or even seen this man, their focus on the men before them. Which meant...

Feeling as though all of the blood in his body had frozen, Booth clamped down hard on the urge to shout her name as he jumped over the man and rounded the corner at full tilt, stealth forgotten. The only fact that initially registered to him was that his partner stood, unharmed, gun on the ground before her feet. Clearly, she had fired the shot he had heard, killing the man who could have easily killed him or Naji. His first reaction was relief and pride, mixed with a tiny bit of frustration that she couldn't for once have just _stayed put_.

Even when Naji skidded to a stop beside him, bringing his weapon up to train it in her direction and breathing out a soft, "Oh my God," it was still another moment before Booth processed that she was moving backwards away from them. He mirrored Naji's stance automatically, training and experience taking over even before his mind fully processed what had caused Naji's horrified exclamation.

In a flash, his eyes beheld a rapid fire sequence of images - the arm wrapped around her waist dragging her backwards; the fear in her eyes; the now open security room door, just past the alcove he had left her in; the man's head just barely visible behind her own; the long, curved knife wrapping around the front of her throat; her hands clawing at the arm around her shoulders that held the knife. They all combined together into the most frightening scenario Booth had ever witnessed.

He and Naji stood side by side, both with their guns pointed right at Brennan, neither of them able to get an angle to take a shot at the man who kept his head almost exactly behind hers. He had stopped pulling her backwards now, and the only sound was that of her heavy, frightened breathing. From the arms around her, Booth could see that the man was wearing a suit. The hand that held the knife to her throat was adorned with a huge, extravagant gold ring set with a gigantic diamond. He kept his head so well hidden behind Brennan that not only could they not get a shot, they couldn't get a good look at him either.

"Naji?" Booth asked, and Naji knew Booth was asking if he had any better angle.

"Nothing, damnit. God, this place just gets better and goddamn better."

Suddenly the man spoke, in perfect English, with no trace of any accent. He was American, they realized, and Booth's finger tensed on the trigger as he recognized that this man was quite possibly the mastermind of the entire operation. "Drop your weapons or I'll slit her throat."

Naji responded before Booth had a chance to, not wanting him to give away just how important this man's hostage was to his opponents. He knew that, of he and Booth, he was the only one who could possibly try this particular tactic and have any chance of being believable. "We want money and drugs," he scoffed. "What do we care if you kill one of your whores? Plenty more wherever that one came from."

To his credit, Booth didn't even flinch, recognizing the tactic for what it was, even at Brennan's sharp intake of breath - but he did swallow so hard that Naji actually heard it from his place by his side.

The man just smiled, a cold and unfeeling twisting of his lips that they couldn't see. "I think you do care. You've killed my top supervisors, my nightclub owner, and my guards. And yet you haven't taken one dime or gram of drugs - nothing but her. I have cameras everywhere…I've seen your every move." He pulled the blade just a little more tightly against her throat, causing her to gasp and Booth to push forward one step in reaction.

His eyes glittered with a hot rage, but his voice was the coldest steel when he spoke, dropping any vestige of pretense. "Then you have some idea of what I'm going to do to you if you hurt her. I'll take my time when I kill you. _Let. Her. Go._ "

The man was starting to drag her backward again toward the door, and Booth and Naji matched him step for step, waiting for him to make the one mistake they needed. "Last chance." Booth's teeth were gritted now, knowing he could not let the man take her through that door or any door, but unable to get a clear shot. "Let her go, or there won't be a place on this planet you can go to hide from me, I will _find_ you."

Suddenly Brennan's step stumbled, which did not seem so odd considering the high heels she still wore and the fact that she was being dragged against her will. But being familiar with the stimulant he had given her, it took only one look at her rapidly dimming eyes to tell Naji that it was about to wear off suddenly, in dramatic fashion. His breath caught when he realized what was going to happen if she suddenly collapsed into dead weight against that knife when the man didn't expect it. The long curve in the blade, wrapping around her throat, made everything more problematic - including the prospect of shooting her captor.

"Have I mentioned that I hate these fucking bastards, Seel?" Naji's voice was tight as they slowly kept pace toward the point that the hallway widened near the security room door, more tense than Booth had ever heard him. "I really fucking do." As he spoke, he continued advancing but began to veer sideways away from Booth, closer and closer toward the opposite wall, at a diagonal angle to Brennan where he could no longer see any trace of the man's head hidden behind her. He knew the man couldn't see him either, and at this point neither could Booth. "It's a shame, really, to do it like this. Because one quick, easy shot is too good for this asshole." The unmistakable sound of Naji's gun clattering to the ground caught the attention of everyone involved, though the man holding Brennan maintained the presence of mind to keep his head hidden behind her and not look. Naji just kept talking. "If I had my way, you'd get your 30 minutes alone in a room with this guy, Seeley. Hell, I'd want 10 minutes of my own. So this is not my first pick of how to do this, just for the record."

"Naji! Talk to me! What the hell are you doing?" Booth's hand remained steady and his eyes focused forward, only a slight tone of panic in his voice betraying what was going on inside.

"This." Naji replied simply, offering no other explanation as he put his head down and rushed forward, hoping against hope that he would be fast enough.

The sudden sound of movement combined with his words was enough to force the action he had wanted. In a reflex reaction, the man automatically tilted his head to the side to see what Naji was doing. It wasn't a very big motion: barely enough to provide a target, and only for a split second. But it was all a former Army Ranger sniper turned FBI agent needed to make the most important - and closest - shot of his life.

In the chain reaction that followed, everything seemed to happen at once: the sound of the shot from Booth's gun; the man starting to slump backward with a bullet right between his eyes; Brennan's soft, strangled cry as that motion pulled her backward by the knife blade still curved around her throat. And finally there was Naji, crashing headlong into the middle of it at a dead run - just in time to grab the arm around her throat, heave it and the knife away from her, and twist his body so that she fell sideways with him instead of onto the man or the knife, all in one smooth motion. His own momentum had thrown them hard to the ground before he could ever be sure that his plan had worked, and he had made sure to take the brunt of the impact.

Rolling away from her to his back, he lifted his head just long enough to verify that the man was dead and Brennan's throat uncut. She seemed unharmed, with Booth already kneeling at her side where she lay, although she was definitely beginning to crash from the drug. That confirmed, Naji dropped his head back to the ground with a groan and threw an arm over his eyes. "God, I'm getting too old for this." Pushing up to his elbows after a moment, he opened one eye and watched Booth examining Brennan for injury. "That was one hell of a _damn_ good shot. And here I thought the FBI had made you soft. Next time, you can do the running and diving." Getting no answer - Booth being too busy pushing his partner's hair out of her eyes and whispering reassurances that were probably needed more for himself than for her - Naji was still muttering in good-natured grouchiness when he pushed to his feet to collect their weapons. "Ah, jeez, not the mushy stuff. I really _do_ hate this place. Good thing it won't be here much longer, huh?"

That actually caught Booth's attention, and he looked up at him sharply.

"Yep. I'd recommend you pick her up. We've gotta go. Now."

TO BE CONTINUED


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Naji had certainly not been lying to Brennan when he told her she would not like the effects of the drug as it began to wear off. After all her body had been through, she had desperately needed rest long before the stimulant ever pushed her to go farther. Now, however, her already exhausted reserves had dwindled even more after the last push of action. Her body trembled and shook, wracked with shivers, as she lay exactly where she had landed when Booth shot the man who held the knife to her throat.

If anything, though, Naji thought that Booth actually looked worse than she did. Despite the veiled warning that they needed to get out of the building, it seemed that Booth needed a minute. The sight of that knife against Brennan's throat, coupled with the near impossibility of retrieving her unscathed - especially after coming so close to having her safe - had been more than he could bear. On top of that, he had been forced to take a shot that was more than uncomfortably close; Naji knew full well that bullet had practically grazed her face, and he didn't want to think too closely about what would have happened if Booth's aim was off even the slightest measure.

Booth's face was still drained of all color and his hands shook as he clutched Brennan, whispering reassurances that she was alive and okay. Naji also picked up on the fact that Booth could not seem to quit touching her - her shoulders, her face, her hair. By the third time she shivered, Booth sat fully on the ground, pulling her practically into his lap with his arms tight around her.

Naji watched intently, searching for any signs that either were uncomfortable with the contact. He had seen Brennan pull away from Booth earlier, with his own two eyes. He had also seen Booth's newfound guilt and reluctance to approach her, which actually concerned him more than what he had seen from her. Then there was the fact that Naji knew he hadn't exactly helped in that regard. Perhaps that was the reason he wanted so badly to help set things straight.

Neither Brennan's fear nor Booth's guilt were in evidence at that moment, however. Her face was buried in his shoulder, her hands clutching the collar of his shirt, shaking like a leaf and letting him hold her together as her body gave out on her. In the eye of the storm for a moment, all that mattered was that they were both alive and safe together, and it was finally over. Unfortunately, Naji mused, the eye of the storm always eventually passed, giving way to the raging maelstrom surrounding it. He wondered when the calm would pass and the emotional storm would break, knowing better than to naively hope that it wouldn't.

Just when Naji thought he was going to have to intervene again to get them moving, Booth saved him from having to do so. With her already almost completely in his lap, he simply adjusted his hold on her to bring one arm beneath her knees. In a smooth motion that belied his trembling limbs, he pushed to his feet, holding her securely in his arms, cradling her against his chest like she was made of glass. Her head never once lifted from his shoulder, and if anything her grip on his shirt seemed to be tighter. In the depth of his emotion, Booth's voice was barely recognizable. "Lead the way, Naji. Let's get her out of here."

And Naji did so, weapon at the ready. Half expecting more guards to pop out at any moment, they made their way around the corner once more and down that final hallway. The door before them seemed almost like an unreachable goal. Both men tensed when Naji reached to open it, Booth turning Brennan slightly away from it. Surging through first, planning to take out anything that moved, Naji found the nightclub itself completely empty. A tiny smile flitted across his face…his men had arrived, and were almost certainly carrying out the task he had given them. Only a moment later, they were out the door and into the eerily still parking lot.

Booth stopped short when he noticed that the little red sports car Naji had purchased was nowhere to be seen. Without missing a beat, Naji pointed toward a large van with no windows that sat in the very back corner of the lot. "Go to that one. It's unlocked, and I believe we'll find a key under the back floor mat, passenger side."

Even though Booth started in that direction without hesitation, his eyes were now back on Naji. "How do you know that?"

Naji didn't really want to get into it. The rails for this train of thought could only lead straight back to the 'how much did this cost and how can I repay you' conversation; and after having basically accused Booth of rape, he felt even less like hearing him talk about being indebted to him. The mere thought made him uncomfortable. Unlike Booth, Naji didn't embrace guilt - he simply avoided it at all costs. "A little bird told me. Just get in the van."

Of course Booth didn't let it go that easily. Naji hadn't really expected him to. "This wasn't here before, and you already knew the car wasn't going to be here. I thought you were here alone. You're not, are you?"

As he opened the doors and climbed in, Naji sighed. "Well, I _thought_ I was. That was the plan, anyway." His thoughts turned back to his phone conversation with Irene as he leaned over to retrieve the key - right where he had told her to have his men leave it - and he couldn't help the full-force smile that broke out across his face. "Turns out, I've got my own gorgeous 'just-partner' that doesn't listen to a damn word the guy with the gun has to say. Figures, huh?"

Booth accepted that with just the tiniest hint of a smile and no further questions, and Naji watched in the mirror as he climbed into the back of the van with Brennan. Ignoring the seats, Booth instead just sat straight down on the floor with her in his lap again, unable or unwilling to let her go just yet. Naji turned the key in the ignition and the van roared to life. As he began to pull away, he mumbled, half to himself, still thinking about Irene. "And I love it every bit as much as you do. We've both taken a few too many knocks to the head."

Ooo … ooo …

Naji only drove a couple of blocks before whipping the van around to face the building and screeching to a stop, in a motion so sudden that it almost knocked Booth over. "Naji, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

Naji already had his phone in his hand, dialing. "Stopping to smell the roses," he muttered, his attention divided. "Sorry. Bear with me a second. You may like this - I know I sure as hell will. Is she conscious?"

Booth was looking down at Brennan with concern written all over his face, and Naji noticed that Booth had yet to regain any of his color, either. "Yeah, but I don't like this," he answered. Naji could see for himself that her shaking and shivers had increased, even Booth's strong arms doing little to hide her uncontrollable trembling. In fact, it might have been both of them trembling. "What'd you give her, Naji? Is this normal?" His tone wasn't accusing - he just sounded scared to death, helplessness written all over his face.

"Unfortunately, yeah. It'll stop eventually, once she gets some rest." Naji held up his hand then, indicating his call had gone through.

Booth was only able to hear Naji's end of the conversation. "Everybody out? Every last one? You're sure about that? Okay. Hang on a sec."

Booth watched as Naji turned in his seat to face them. His tone was gentle, and he surprised Booth by ignoring him and instead calling his partner's name. "Hey, Dr. Brennan? Can you look at me for a minute?"

He hadn't been sure she would even be able to understand him, but she did, tentatively lifting her head from Booth's shoulder and looking toward the front. "You're going to hear a loud noise, the van's probably going to shake, and I know you're going to look to see what's going on when that happens. So before I do this, I just need to know that you understand one thing: there is not one single woman left in that building. They're all out, most of 'em in the hospital by now - even the women that were being forced to work there. You understand me?"

Brennan nodded, wide-eyed. And even though Naji was carefully avoiding Booth's eyes, he saw him tighten his arms around her, knowing full well what was coming. Putting his phone back to his ear, Naji said only two words before disconnecting it and throwing it onto the dash: "Blow it." He planned to enjoy this.

The implosion was a controlled one - his men knew what they were doing. There was no fiery explosion, no flames shooting out of windows. There was only one loud boom, and the sight of the huge facility crashing in on itself like dominoes being pushed over.

A few moments later, Naji pulled away and began driving toward the airport, as fast as he dared.

ooo … ooo … ooo

The next several minutes of the ride passed in a thick silence. Booth's concern for Brennan's physical condition as she continued to shake and shiver was quickly reaching the point of panic. With nothing more that he could do at that point to help her, he simply clung to her tightly as waves of helplessness rolled over him.

At some point, Naji cleared his throat and called for Booth's attention. "It's time to make a decision, Seeley. Straight to the airport, or does she need to go to the hospital here? Your call."

That particular question brought up another question that was already on the forefront of Booth's mind - one that he was not sure he was ready for the answer to. Rational or not, he just desperately wanted her out of the country, even if it meant landing somewhere else to get medical attention. It just _felt_ safer, even though he knew it didn't make one damn bit of difference. But if, God forbid, she was injured in some way not immediately apparent to his eyes, it might be necessary. And there was only one way to find out. His arms subconsciously tightened around her, his eyes slipping shut as he mustered his nerve to ask the question that held the power to destroy him. "Bones?"

Even through her trembling he could feel her nod against his shoulder before he continued. His tone was gentle and tender as he began to speak, but he was still not quite able to just come out and ask the question he was quickly becoming obsessed with. "I need to know how badly you're hurt. Can you make it back home before you see a doctor, or do you need one now?"

She surprised him by burrowing even more closely against him, her hand still clutching his shirt collar. Sleep was beginning to close in on her quickly, and she was having a more difficult time focusing. Her voice was weak but certain when she answered him with the only word she could manage in her shaky, exhausted state. "Home."

He was relieved at that, but he had to have an answer to his real question before he could make the final decision about whether or not to get her immediately to a hospital. He had not been ready to ask before, but suddenly his very sanity seemed to depend on having an answer _right then_. And he was determined not to take the coward's way out: he was going to look in her eyes and see the truth for himself when she answered, even if it was the end of him. Shifting her gently, he maneuvered her slightly off his lap and to his side, leaning her back against the seat where she could remain upright and they could face one another as he knelt close by her side. His hands were shaking when he brought them up to frame her face, his face close to hers as he rose up on his knees to look at her. When he met her blue eyes, words failed him and his breath caught in his throat. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to speak. "Bones. I'm so sorry...I have to know."

From where he had been glancing at them in the rearview mirror every few seconds, now Naji purposefully averted his eyes and glued them to the road to give as much privacy as he could. Booth's tone with her was so gentle and his actions so tender that Naji felt like an intruder just by being there - and he really wasn't sure he wanted to hear, either. He knew exactly what Booth was going to ask. When they had realized the blood was coming from a cut on her leg, they had both been relieved enough to readily accept as fact that nobody had done anything to her after all. It had occurred to him later that that was not necessarily the case, but he had sure as hell not been planning to bring that up to Booth yet. Clearly, he had arrived at the same conclusion on his own.

The question stuck in Booth's throat -the word was just not one he could look into _her_ eyes and say, especially not about her. "Bones, before me - before I got there, I mean - I just have to know. Did anybody else come in? Did anybody come in and - and try to..." His eyes closed briefly. Taking a deep breath, he forced them open and willed himself to spit it out in the only words he could bring himself to use. "Temperance, did anybody touch you...force you...?" His heartbeat was throbbing in his ears so loudly that he was almost afraid he wouldn't be able to hear her answer. And God help him, she wasn't saying anything and she wasn't meeting his eyes anymore as her head rested against the seat.

Struggling to make sense of his disjointed statement, her sleepy mind had latched onto the very first part of his statement that had been understandable as a question - "Did anybody else come in..." She immediately became consumed with that question. Had they? Her mind had fought a fierce battle with the concept of what was real and what was not after seeing Booth, then Edon, and then Booth again in the room with her. In that one blinding moment of clarity when she was looking into Booth's eyes after she stabbed the guard, she had come to the conclusion that it had only been Booth there and that she had imagined Edon.

And yet parts of that experience she still could not quantify. Parts of what had happened still bore the indelible impression of Edon Tolka - ' _not Booth, please,_ _never_ _Booth_ ' - no matter how convinced she was that Booth was the only one there. And before she had ever had a chance to fully and completely come to grips with that, all hell had broken loose and never stopped.

Her eyes had looked away in thought just as soon as Booth's eyes closed, no longer holding her focus; she barely even registered that he was speaking when he spoke again.

A whirlwind of images - memories? - were flashing through her mind in quick succession, demanding all of her attention. Images of Booth entering the room and _his_ confusing actions were quickly followed by images of Edon's sneering face and his completely horrifying actions. Booth had been real. Edon had seemed real, too. But just as quickly, he had been gone - leaving Booth there again. Booth was also here with her now, and he was certainly real. Her first moment of clarity, then, must have been correct: Edon had never been there.

But that thought was, for some reason, not as calming to her as it seemed it should have been. A rising uneasiness was growing in her, one that she was simply too tired to examine. Instead, she answered the question she had heard, which was: "Did anybody else come in." Bringing her eyes back to meet Booth's, she answered his question as simply as she could, only seconds before allowing exhaustion to take over and succumbing to the sleep she could no longer fight: "No. Just you."

ooo … ooo …

In the front seat, Naji was trying not to listen, but he really had no choice. He winced in sympathy at Booth's stuttered, rambling question, and again when he finally clarified. The silence was deafening as the question hung there for at least 15 seconds, and he found himself gripping the wheel as he wished that she would just _answer_ and put his friend out of his misery, one way or another. He wasn't prepared for exactly what he heard:

"Temperance, did anybody touch you...force you...?"

Silence.

"No. Just you."

His eyes shot immediately back up to the rearview mirror. _'Jesus.'_

ooo … ooo … ooo

Her sleepily mumbled words knocked the breath out of her partner. For just a moment, Booth still knelt close to her, his hands not moving from where they framed her face, frozen into place. He felt as though he was moving in slow motion when he slowly - so slowly - pulled his hands away from her face as if he were afraid to make any sudden moves. Her heavy eyes fluttered shut and her body relaxed, and it was only then he noticed that her trembling had slowed at some point during his questioning of her. His trembling was only beginning. She was sound asleep, her state peaceful. His state was anything but peaceful.

He had been up on his knees leaning close to her, and he fell backward away from her like someone had shoved him, all the way to a seated position, his hands dropping forgotten onto his thighs. Her words washed over him again and again, replaying on a continuous loop in his mind, desperately seeking a way for them to mean anything other than exactly what he had heard.

 _"Temperance, did anybody touch you...force you...?"_

 _"No, just you...No, just you...No, just you."_

He lurched away from her suddenly, pulled up short when his back hit the opposite wall of the van. For at least the fifth time in the past day, his heart shattered. Every other time things had seemed hopeless, by some miracle, he had been spared from the worst: she had still been alive when he found her; the blood hadn't meant what he automatically assumed; she had still tried to save him from coldblooded murder, despite all else he had done; that _so-damn-close_ shot had hit its mark and, again, she was alive and safe in his arms. Each time his heart had broken, he had somehow received a second chance, deserved or not.

But this time - this time, the shattering of his heart was surely irrevocable; there would be no undeserved redemption, no forgiveness, no absolution. How could there be, if that was how she remembered it? His head dropped into his hands and his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt as he berated himself guiltily- _"Exactly how else do you think she should remember it? You_ _did_ _force her...pinned her right straight onto her back under you while she screamed, and then held her down when she fought you. In bed. With your mouth all over her neck. What was she supposed to think? And there's no way she didn't feel it when you..."_

Nausea hit him full force, and he was sure he would have vomited if he could have even remembered the last time he had eaten. As it was, he could be easily overtaken with the dry heaves if he would allow it. But he wouldn't - it might make him feel better, and he didn't want that now. He cursed the tears he felt rising in his eyes. He would not allow those to fall either, for the same reason.

He still felt an almost overwhelming relief in the fact that he was now more reassured that she had not been raped. He had known with certainty that had her answer been different on that topic, he would have not rested until he administered justice, _his_ way, if he had to sift through every piece of rubble in that collapsed building to find a clue where to search - regardless of whether she would ever speak to him again. Whether she did or not, it didn't change the fact that he loved her. It certainly didn't change the fact that he would kill for her.

Even now, knowing he had lost her completely, he didn't question the knowledge that he would still give his life for her, without hesitation. And he was going to get the chance to do so, in the only way he could think of that he could protect her from more hurt: he was going to walk away. Even if it killed him, which it might. It would certainly hurt worse than physically dying for her.

But first, he still had to get her home. He just had to find a way to do it without inflicting himself on her any more than he had to. Then he could go away and stop hurting her. He opened his eyes and forced himself to look at her, still wearing his suit coat over the lingerie and sleeping hard now. The sight of his coat on her squeezed at his heart, and he very nearly lost his battle with the tears in his eyes. She still leaned against the seat where he had propped her up, but her head was falling to the side and she was beginning to slump over. Complete indecision washed over him. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

ooo … ooo …

 _"No, just you."_

The damning words played on continuous loop in Naji's ears too.

He wanted to say or do something - anything - to help, but he did not have a clue what that would be. Instead, he just pushed the accelerator closer to the floor and tried to end the trip as fast as he could, noticing that Brennan had fallen asleep. For some reason that he knew was completely irrational, that fact almost irritated him. _'Holy hell. Why didn't she just take out his gun and shoot him? At least that would have killed him quick."_

His heart pounding, he pulled into the airport, grateful beyond belief that the ride was over and wondering exactly _what the fuck_ he was supposed to do next. Looking in the rearview mirror for another moment, he saw that Brennan was beginning to slump over, and that Booth was watching that too. Booth did not even appear to realize the van had stopped, and he had that same ' _what next'_ look on his face that Naji knew was probably on his. It never even occurred to Naji this time to believe - for even a moment - that Booth had actually done what she was saying. He had seen too much now, both their interaction and Booth's feelings for her, to make that mistake again. He was going to handle this much differently this time.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Still trying to decide what to do - prop her back up? pick her back up in his lap? lie her down in the seat? on the ground? - Booth's head jerked up when he heard the back door of the van opening. Instinct took over, and he simultaneously drew his gun and lunged forward between her and the door, ready to defend. He pulled the gun up and away instantly when he saw Naji's face.

"It's just me. We're here. Hey, Seeley..." Naji's tone was conciliatory, and Booth heard the pity in his voice. He wanted no part of it.

"Don't look at me like that, Naji," he bit out angrily. "And don't go blaming her, either. She didn't say anything that wasn't true." A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, holding no hint of humor. "Hell, she didn't even say anything you hadn't already thought. So why are _you_ so goddamn surprised?"

He had already put away his weapon, and didn't seem to know what to do with his hands now that his arms were not filled with his partner. One hand ran through his hair before dropping momentarily to rest on his hip, the other shoved in his pocket. "Let's just...get her out of here, all right?" All the fight was gone out of his voice now, and he just sounded defeated.

Naji held up both hands by way of concession. "Fine." Frustration made him exceedingly blunt with his next words. It had been more hours than either could count since they had eaten or slept, and the stress was beginning to take its toll. Still, he cringed a little at his word choice as soon as it was out of his mouth. He was, he considered, really going to have to master the concept of tact.

"Our next problem, then, since you just want to ignore that one, is how we're going to get away with two men carrying a bloody and unconscious woman in lingerie and fuck-me heels across the tarmac to a private jet and just flying away. Think anybody'll notice?" Handling this better the second time around wasn't getting off to a great start.

He thought for just a minute that Booth was going to hit him, and truth be told he would have welcomed it. It might have done them both some good. Booth's bitter words about his earlier assumptions had hurt, even though he knew it was deserved, and he knew Booth was feeling even more guilty than he was. If nothing else, maybe he could give him somebody to take it out on and assuage some of his own guilt at the same time.

"Dammit," was all Booth said when he finally backed down. He glared at Naji for a minute. "I have extra clothes in my bag on the plane."

Naji nodded, accepting that. "Okay. I'll be right back."

Booth looked like he almost panicked at the idea of being left alone with her, his hand shooting out in the classic 'stop' gesture. "Wait!"

Brennan startled at his impassioned exclamation, drawing both men's attention to her for a moment before she settled back into exhausted sleep. Booth's lips pressed together in a thin line as he heaved a sigh, and Naji could see that Booth was adding 'scaring her' to the mental list of evidence he was compiling against himself.

"Just...wait here with her," Booth said tightly, his voice low. "I'll go." He shoved his way out of the van like he couldn't get far enough away fast enough, and Naji watched him running at a fast jog toward the direction of the plane. After closing the door behind him, Naji turned to readjust Brennan to where she was no longer slumping and ready to fall off of the seat she was propped against. That done, he sat on the ground in front of her watching the door, trying to figure out exactly how things had become so complicated.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Twenty minutes later, just as Naji was starting to worry about having let Booth run off by himself with a weapon in his state of mind, the door opened again. Booth came in carrying a bag, his first aid kit, and a couple of warm, wet washcloths he had taken from the bathroom on the plane. He looked a little bit better after having something constructive to do; but that ended the moment that he saw Brennan and reality crashed over him, tying his guts up in knots. What he was about to have to do terrified him.

Naji was looking at him like he was a particularly sensitive incendiary device that he thought might explode at any moment. "So." Naji cleared his throat. "How do you want to go about this?" He cleared his throat again, looking intently at Booth and not sure how to ask his next question. "I can do it, if you want...you know, if you'd be more comfortable not...

Booth's throat was working, the knot in it bobbing up and down as he shook his head rapidly. "No. I'll do it. Please just...stay here though, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer - knew better even now than to think he needed one - as he approached Brennan and sat down in front of her. He only hesitated a moment before reaching for her feet, picking up each one gently and unbuckling the glittery heeled shoes from them. In contrast to his gentle touch, his motion as he slung the shoes across the van away from her was almost violent. Naji winced, wondering how much that had to do with his ill-conceived word choice a little earlier.

Then again, he decided, he could understand Booth's being ready to rid her of everything related to the whole experience, regardless. He wondered just how much of it he planned to rid her of right now, but he wasn't going there. That was Booth's call, and he trusted him to make it. He noticed that the shoes had clearly been too tight, as evidenced by angry red marks all over her feet. Almost reverently, Booth was rubbing her feet between his hands for the next few moments, trying to soothe them and restore circulation.

Booth reached next, with still only a slight hesitation, for his tie that Naji had tied around her leg over the bandage. The knot had slipped around, mercifully, to the very outside of her leg, allowing him to untie it without having to get too close.

Next, Booth's hand hesitated a little longer before reaching for the snaps at the top of her stockings that connected them to her garter belt. He was going to have to remove them to adequately clean the blood from her, and there was never going to be a better time than while she was asleep. He certainly didn't want to have to undress her again later to clean her wounds, and it was a long flight home. Cautiously, he released the snaps and began carefully rolling down the one on her uninjured leg, holding his breath and praying she wouldn't wake up and think he was attacking her again.

The only person who was quite possibly more nervous than Booth about that was Naji - he wasn't sure Booth could take it if she woke up and jumped away from him at this point. He held his own breath as Booth rolled the second, blood-soaked one off of her injured leg, breathing a huge sigh of relief when it pulled away from her foot without incident. The stockings quickly followed the shoes in their flight across the van.

Booth let out the breath he had been holding and turned for the washcloths and first-aid kit he had brought. His eyes lit on Naji, and Naji knew what he was asking. Wordlessly, he bent and helped him move her to a prone position on the floor.

Booth squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment before beginning to wash the blood from her legs with a soapy rag. His eyes flitted back and forth from his task to her face as he washed all the way around her leg, letting Naji help him support it as needed. Drawing a sharp breath, he tried to ignore his shaking hands when he had to push the suit coat up to reach the top of the blood trail, especially toward the inside part of her leg. If she were to wake up now, he could only imagine what she would think. He repeated the process with the other rag to rinse away the soap, and then repeated it again with a towel he pulled from the bag to dry everything off. Still, she slept.

He turned his attention next to the wounds. Naji supported her leg as Booth removed the bandage and cleaned and disinfected both wounds - the new and the old. Booth was so intent on being gentle as he completed the task that he forgot to worry about her waking up from the pain. It was Naji who, awkwardly holding her leg in the air, was biting his lip nervously as he stared at her face, willing her to stay asleep. He certainly didn't want to be responsible for any more trauma if she woke up and saw him and got the wrong idea. She had stirred somewhat but remained in her deep sleep, a testament to her complete and total exhaustion and just how hard her body had finally crashed.

When the wounds were finally cleaned and bandaged and she was stretched out completely on the floor asleep, Booth reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of his sweatpants. Her legs were now bare from his suit coat down, and all she wore was the coat and the two-piece lingerie and garter. He reached for her foot to start putting her leg into the pants, but stopped and hesitated. He sat for a long moment, appearing to be deep in thought, and Naji wondered in confusion how this could be the point at which Booth balked after all they had just done. It would seem that dressing her would _help_ matters. He got his answer only a moment later.

Booth's voice was soft, his eyes trained on her foot as he spoke to Naji, his voice full of indecision. "Which do you think would be worse, Noj? For her, I mean - not me." His voice was even quieter, filled with emotion as he continued. "Do you think it'll be worse for her when she goes to change clothes and she's still wearing that stuff underneath? Or would it be worse for her to _not_ find it and know that I took it off of her after…after?" His body had not budged the whole time he spoke. "What do you think? Because I'll do it - I'll get her out of that stuff if it will be easier on her later, even if..." he trailed off.

Naji was silent for a moment, having some idea what it would cost his friend at this point to do that. His voice, when he spoke, was serious. "Jeez, Seel. I don't know." The question had completely floored him. "I think - I think I don't know."

They were spared having to make a decision when she groaned suddenly in her sleep, her eyes fluttering slightly open as her foot spasmed in what must have been a painful cramp, the result of hours encased in shoes that were too small. Tenderly, Booth massaged her foot until the tension drained out of it, realizing gratefully that she remained asleep. Seeing her so close to having awoken made his decision for him: regardless of which option was better, her waking up to _find_ him removing the last scraps of clothing on her was worse than either. Hastily, he pushed her legs into his sweatpants. He pulled them up as far as they would go, then leant over and slid one arm beneath her waist to lift her just enough that he could finish pulling them up with his other hand, right over the lingerie bottoms. They swallowed her whole, but at least they covered her. A pair of his socks that practically hung off of her feet quickly followed.

Working as fast as he could now, he pulled a t-shirt from inside the bag. Leaning over her from the side, he began unbuttoning the suit coat. Just before he reached for the last button, he suddenly stopped and looked up at Naji in clear hesitation. Naji understood instantly, turning his back. His help wasn't needed for this part, and he could appreciate Booth's protectiveness of her modesty, even after all he had already seen.

Turning back to her, Booth gritted his teeth as he unfastened the last button of the coat, remembering her tear-filled eyes when he had roughly put it on her. Emotion threatening to overcome him, he tried to focus on the task of pushing it open and removing it so he could put the t-shirt on her. He had just pushed the sides open, opening it across her chest, when he heard a small sound. His hands were still on either side of the coat, holding it open, when his eyes flashed up to her face - only to meet wide blue ones, trying to focus right on him.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth froze when he saw her open eyes. His hands still gripped the lapels of the suit coat he had just pushed open, baring her chest completely other than the almost sheer bra. Pure, blind panic washed over him, paralyzing him so that he could neither move away from her nor speak to defend himself. And so he just continued to kneel over her, waiting for the inevitable accusation and terror he was sure to see in her eyes. The hurt that filled him was so agonizing that he thought, if it weren't for Parker, he might be tempted to just swallow his gun right then and there. He had no thought and no intention of defending himself if she swung. If she was strong enough to pummel the hell out of him, he was damn sure going to let her. He owed her that much, at least.

Her blue eyes wavered slowly into focus on him, until he could see that she was looking him directly in the eye, albeit very drowsily. He tensed even more when he saw sleepy recognition on her face, cursing fate for allowing him to come so close to what he had worked so hard for - the trust and maybe even love of the one woman on the whole fucking _planet_ for him - only to yank her away from him in the worst way possible.

And then she did the last thing he ever expected - something that cut deeper into his heart than it could have if she had cursed him, hit him, even told him she hated him. She smiled at him. Sleepily. _Trustingly._ This time, he could almost hear it when what was left of his heart fell and shattered into even tinier pieces.

ooo … ooo … ooo

It occurred to Naji, as he stood with his back turned respectfully, that it was taking an awfully long time for Booth to remove Brennan's coat and put a t-shirt on her - and he could no longer hear any movement or the sound of rustling clothes. He was already beginning to fidget uncomfortably, wondering how he could ask what was going on without accidentally implying anything _else_ today that he would live to regret, when the sudden sound of her voice almost caused him to jump out of his skin:

"Booth?"

 _'Shit.'_ Naji couldn't help it - he forgot all about keeping his back turned and turned his head to see what was going on, immediately wondering how fate could be so cruel; she had decided to wake up only _after_ Booth had opened the coat and was leaning over her ready to remove it. His breath left him in a rush. _'Great. Here we go again. Fan-fucking-tastic.'_

ooo … ooo … ooo

When she called his name, her voice was rough, her throat obviously dry. Absently, some small part of Booth's mind noted that he needed to have Naji get some water in her as soon as they got on the plane - maybe she would be okay with him coming near her. The rest of him just stared, unable to reply verbally, his head nodding a response of its own accord as he waited for reality to crash in on her and send her scrambling away from him.

Somehow, as the seconds passed, that didn't happen. Before he could even begin to wonder why it didn't, she was reaching her hand out, closing it weakly around his forearm. Completely mesmerized, he didn't dare move - or, at least, he didn't think he could. Acting independently of his brain, his hand released the suit coat, sliding his forearm up through her hand until their fingers met.

The tiny part of his brain that was functioning normally was screaming at his traitorous body to stay neutral, allow her to grasp _his_ hand without grabbing hold of hers, to just _please_ not do anything to make things worse. Instead, he found himself ignoring all of it and clasping her small hand in his large one, lacing their fingers together so tightly that he was afraid he was going to hurt her. But he couldn't have let go for anything in the world - she was _reaching_ for him; he could deny her nothing; and he needed that temporary reconnection to her with a desperation so intense that it consumed him.

"Where are we?" She was speaking again, her voice still sleepy, and then she was yawning - _yawning,_ as though she hadn't ripped his heart out of his chest within the last hour. He heard a male voice speaking - one he didn't recognize - and it took him a moment to work out the fact that it was his own. Apparently his vocal cords were now acting of their own volition too, just like his head and hand, almost as though his brain was disconnected from his body and simply observing the surreal scene playing out in front of it.

"We just got to the airport. It's time to get on the plane." With wonder, he realized he had said it as though they were simply discussing the weather or what to order at the diner. A brief pause, and then his next words were ones he chose consciously, his voice somehow only shaking a little as he said them. "You're safe. It's all over. Bones…I'm..." He had been on the verge of apologizing, pleading for her understanding, but he was too late.

With one more tiny, trusting smile, her eyes had closed and she was back out. Her hand in his was the only evidence that she had ever awoken to begin with, aside from the tiny seed of hope that was beginning to come to life inside him. That little sprout of hope was screaming at him that not one shred of fear had crossed her eyes; instead, she had _relaxed_ at his touch, even seeking it out for comfort. It was almost as though seeing him had put her at ease, allowed her to drift back into sleep feeling safe.

But how could that be, after her earlier words? At that thought, weeds of doubt cropped up in him, instantly choking out the hope before it could grow. She had only been awake a few seconds, not long enough to remember what he had done, much less notice her state of dress. Then there was the matter of the cocktail of drugs he suspected were still racing through her system.

Either way, he had to accept the fact that, regardless of what he had just seen, he was nothing more than a better and slightly safer option than where she had just come from. It wouldn't last. Her earlier answer to his question only proved there was no way she would ever truly trust him again. Fate had simply dangled that one tantalizingly sweet moment in front of him to torment him, leaving whispers echoing in his mind of what _could_ have been.

Even so, as she slept, several long moments passed before he could bring himself to let go of her hand, trying to ignore a suddenly growing tightness in his chest. He quickly completed the task of removing the coat and putting his t-shirt on her. This time he never questioned whether he should remove the rest of her attire first - he couldn't have done that now if his life depended on it. He would see to it that the hospital in D.C. took care of that quietly, hopefully without her ever having to set eyes on it again.

He had thought his discomfort would disappear when the task of dressing her was complete. Instead, the painfully tight feeling in his chest continued to grow as he looked down at her sleeping form, which looked gut-twistingly small and vulnerable to him in his sweatpants and t-shirt. He wasn't prepared for the surge of emotion that ran through him unbidden. Without making the conscious decision to do so, he found himself suddenly leaning back over her, his hand finding its shaky way to push the hair back from her forehead. His breath hitched in his chest, and suddenly the words were tumbling across his lips vehemently, unplanned and completely against his will: "I love you. Bones, I _love_ you. I always will."

He felt tears pricking at his eyes, feeling like a coward, wondering what had come over him. She was sound asleep, with no possible way that she could have heard him. But Cam had seen to it before he ever left D.C. that he had no choice but to tell her. And then fate had countered by making sure that he had no _right_ to tell her. This was the only possible compromise. If she pushed him out of her life when they returned home, as she was almost certain to do, he would never have another chance to say it. And damn her, Cam had been right - he _couldn't_ live with that.

But somehow, his compromise did not ease the uncomfortable feeling as much as he had thought it would. The words still clattered around in the hole his heart had once occupied, taunting and tormenting him with the fact that his declaration had served no purpose: she still didn't know. And, he promised himself, now he could never let her; he could not take back what he had done to her already, but he could certainly keep himself from putting any more burdens on her shoulders. She owed him nothing.

ooo … ooo …

Naji quietly watched the scene unfolding before him. He had been as surprised by Dr. Brennan's actions as Booth had, if not more, expecting her to react with fright after her earlier words. She was a constant contradiction, and he was beginning to think it would be better if Booth didn't interact with her anymore until she was rested and drug free. He was no psychologist, but it didn't take one to know that what was coming out of her mouth was not exactly lining up with her reactions. Something wasn't right, and he couldn't put his finger on it. She had been through more than he could imagine, mentally and physically, so it went without saying that she was a little off right now. But Booth was taking her every word and action to heart as though it were gospel, and Naji was getting tired of watching him be put through the wringer.

He was startled again at Booth's heartfelt admission to his sleeping partner, suddenly feeling the urge to intervene. He had known Booth loved her. He had been pretty sure he planned to tell her, eventually. He had not, on the other hand, expected him to blurt it out like that when she was volatile as all hell and capable of God knew what, asleep or not. It would be one heck of a mess if she chose to wake up at that moment and say or do something devastating. Gently, he cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Y'know, Seeley...she's been through one hell of a lot."

The sardonic grunt that came out of Booth's mouth conveyed effectively that he knew that better than anyone, having put her through a lot of it himself.

Naji sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. Leave it to Booth to turn that statement of the obvious into an accusation. He'd lost count of how many languages he could speak fluently, but communicating with either half of this pair in his native tongue was challenging to the point of impossibility. Fitting. "What I meant is that I'm just not sure how much she's truly aware of right now. I'm not even really sure she was completely awake just then. I think that maybe you two should just wait and talk when..."

Booth didn't let him finish the sentence. "I got a wheelchair from inside the airport. It's just outside the door." He was already bending back over to pick her up, effectively turning his back on Naji. "We can take her to the plane in that, keep from drawing too much attention. Get my bag, will ya?"

Naji didn't say a word as he turned and opened the doors, held the wheelchair steady for Booth to position her carefully in it so she wouldn't slide out, and watched him begin pushing her through the parking lot. After a moment, he grabbed the bag and followed, venting sarcastically under his breath. "Sure. Great. No problem, Seel. Or I could just shoot the both of you right now. Maybe fly to Hawaii, go surfing... Wonder if _that_ would draw too much damned attention." With a shake of his head, he dutifully followed them across the parking lot, through the airport, right onto the tarmac and up to the cabin door. He stood by, his concern winning out over his mild irritation, wondering what this day held in store for them next as Booth gently picked her up one last time, carrying her up the steps and into the plane that would carry them all home.

ooo ... ooo … ooo

As it turned out, Naji did not have a very long wait before he found out what fate had in store for them next. Any hope that he had held for it to be nothing more than a quiet plane ride back to Lisbon was immediately dispelled.

Two steps in the door of the plane, Booth clearly balked at the thought of putting Brennan onto the bed, or even going near it with her. His steps froze, still holding her in his arms, staring at the bed with a look of complete trepidation on his face. To add to his consternation, all of the jostling and movement were quite obviously beginning to have an impact on Brennan, who was stirring in his arms and moving again as she obviously began to awaken.

For a moment, Naji considered the seemingly pointless idea of just asking Booth to hand her over to him and let _him_ put her in the bed, just to save any of them any more grief. He dismissed that idea as ridiculous, only to wish fervently a minute later that he would have damn well _insisted_ on it.

TO BE CONTINUED….


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

They could not really be called dreams, per se. Nightmares, visions, even hallucinations were all too strong to accurately describe what was happening to Brennan as she slept. Pure exhaustion combined with drugs and emotional turmoil to make her sleep deep but unrestful. Perhaps 'images' was the best word to describe what she saw in flashes - images both real and unreal, of things that had happened and things that could not have happened.

A clear, bright image of working in her lab, safe and surrounded by her coworkers; suddenly replaced by the image of a set of remains coming to life and grabbing for her, distorted face morphing into the faces of her captors in Albania.

Various aches and pains registered, at times, making it through the surreal quality of the images: a stinging sensation on her leg; a dull, aching cramp in her foot. But they were not strong enough for wakefulness to break through her tortured subconscious, which concocted even more vivid images to explain them. Visions within visions they became, as all the repressed terrors, ecstasies and fantasies of a lifetime began to swim together to alternately bring her fear, contentment, and even at times pure pleasure.

A warehouse, being chased by Kenton's dogs as they tore at her flesh, only to be pulled up short by a shackle on her ankle.

The warm, sheltered feeling of life with her parents and brother, where no danger ever existed that she knew of…until the day that shelter was ripped away.

That hole in the ground in El Salvador, believing that at any moment that weapon being brandished before her face would be used to end her life.

Booth. His eyes, his smile, his arms around her.

She dreamed of him several times. Dreamed that when she opened her eyes and smiled, she found his warm brown ones smiling right back at her, making her feel safe for the moment. This was a good dream. She reached out to touch him; she always touched him, in her dreams.

From somewhere far away, she could hear him saying something about a plane, reassuring her that she was safe and it was all over. His voice and his hand holding hers seemed real, even if the words made no sense; it grounded her for a moment, but only for a moment before his hand slipped away and a mercifully dreamless sleep sucked her away from him and into its depths.

But perhaps it did not suck her so far away from him after all...

Flashes of her most secret nighttime fantasies assaulted her senses again within moments. Booth's face - always Booth's face, for more time now than she cared to admit - his body against hers, strong hands caressing and pleasing her…

So why was she gripped with such uneasiness at what should have been a familiar (if not exactly calming) mental image? Why did her heart suddenly pound with fear, her body tensed and ready to run? It was not as though she had never thought about it before.

It couldn't be guilt for thinking of him that way….she'd compartmentalized the last vestige of that right out of existence the moment she realized just how mentally stimulating her thoughts of his very aesthetically pleasing muscular structure could be.

The fuzzy edges of her disjointed dream cleared up, and her heartrate increased further. She and Booth. In his bed. Him over her. Still nothing she hadn't dwelled upon before, at length. Still no cause for the desperate need for escape she now felt.

Then his face changed. She began to fight as she saw Edon Tolka over her, hurting her.

Even more terrifying, as the man over her grabbed her wrists, pinning her suddenly unwilling body beneath him, that image shifted again…and she could clearly see that it was indeed Booth looming over her, undressed, ignoring her struggles and pleas.

She couldn't even breathe, so overwhelming was the very idea of Booth forcing himself on her.

It was at that moment, as Booth carried her onto the plane preparing to gently lie her on the bed so she could sleep off the rest of the drugs that still gripped her, that exhaustion's hold broke free and she began swimming desperately upward toward consciousness.

ooo … ooo … ooo

After balking at the door, Booth swallowed hard before crossing the cabin and making his way to the bed in three large steps. He briefly considered asking Naji to do it. But, just as he had with the cleaning and dressing, he felt obligated to perform the most uncomfortable tasks himself. Even now, he couldn't ask another man to carry her to bed, however innocently. Without stopping to pull the covers back, he leaned over to deposit her on top of them, intending to step away as fast as he could.

For Brennan, as consciousness dawned her first realization was that her arms and legs dangled helplessly, as her body was being lowered, only supported by something just under her waist and knees…something that was beginning to slide away from beneath her.

Again, her subconscious helpfully supplied an image - a real one, from her own memories this time - to explain what her body felt.

Edon Tolka. A pillowcase over her head. Arms lifting her, just before carelessly releasing her to fly through the air across a van - falling, falling into the unknown.

Only this time, unbound, she reached out to grab Edon first before she could fall, the word "NO" ripping from her throat with all of the strength she could muster as her fingers clenched and grabbed for purchase to keep from falling.

As Booth lowered her downward, already sliding his arm from beneath her waist, he was so startled by her sudden gasp that he almost dropped her. His arms tightened automatically to keep from losing his grip on her, his knee landing on the bed to steady himself and stop his fall forward. Drop her or not, no way was he going to fall on her again.

Without warning, Brennan was grasping at him, clawing at him, one hand clutching at his back and the other at his chest, fingernails digging into his skin even through the minimal protection of his thin dress shirt. She made contact with his face, breaking skin as she clawed a mark across his face with her desperate grab. All of that paled in comparison to the bloodcurdling shriek of "NO" that wrenched out of her throat, amplified by the fact that her mouth was so close to his ear. He felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut, fearing that she once again believed the worst of his intentions.

And just as suddenly, Brennan was no longer falling. The solid feel of a bed against her back, however, coming right on the heels of her terrifying dreams, did little to calm her - especially when she sensed the heat of a body looming over her, oblivious to the fact that she was still clutching that body to her.

Not stopping to question why she would be holding _onto_ him instead of pushing him _away_ if she thought he were attacking her, Booth's efforts to disentangle himself from her were immediate and wholehearted.

But with the same suddenness she had grabbed him, as her back hit the bed Brennan's hands next wrenched away from Booth and hit him square in the chest, pushing him away from her with a strength he wouldn't have thought she still possessed. It was her breathlessly urgent words that confirmed his worst suspicions and hurt him far more deeply than he would have thought he could still be hurt at this point -

 _'No! Booth!'_

The moment she was free, she sat bolt upright, breathing hard as her eyes wildly searched the room, widening with recognition as they zeroed in on the man whose name she had yelled for help.

Booth didn't wait to see the look on her face - he didn't want to. He backed away a few steps, his face stricken, and then he was out the door and off the plane before Naji could even react.

ooo … ooo …

Naji stood helplessly, torn between chasing Booth down and trying to do damage control with Dr. Brennan. Finally, knowing that he would not allow the damn plane to take off without Booth on it anyway, he opted for dealing with Dr. Brennan instead. Maybe he could find out what was going on in her head. Not to even mention the fact that if he left her there to go look for Booth and she were to disappear, there would be hell to pay when Booth found out. And he would definitely not put it past her.

She was sitting up in the bed, eyes wide open, chest heaving breathlessly but already looking far more calm as she made a noticeable effort to slow her breathing and relax. She was truly awake this time, unlike earlier when she had opened her eyes and smiled at Booth like he was the most welcome sight she'd ever seen. So which of her conflicting reactions was real? He had a sinking feeling he might not want to know the answer to that.

A flash of irritation hit him, as he watched her easily readable face fill up with hurt when she turned to stare at the door through which Booth had just disappeared. What had she expected after her latest performance in the little rollercoaster ride she was forcing Booth to endure? A marriage proposal? She couldn't even make up her mind whether to cling to him or push him away, to smile at him or accuse him of hurting her.

Forcing himself to relax, he reminded himself that none of this was really her fault. Her eyes had turned to him now, her breathing having slowed to normal. He quickly knelt down where he stood beside the bed, putting himself just below her level. "Dr. Brennan?" His eyes and tone were kind, showing that he had more sympathy about what she was going through than he really wanted to admit at that moment. "Do you know where you are?"

She was looking around the unfamiliar cabin of the plane as she sat, her weight resting on her hands braced behind her. Her continued exhaustion was evident when her elbow buckled under her. Clearly not too worried by Naji's presence, she lay back down before answering his question. "No."

Naji was overcome with the sudden urge to shoot Booth so he didn't run off again just as she had a lucid moment. The man's timing was impeccable, in the most frustrating of ways. But just as he was preparing to explain their whereabouts, she asked the one question he least wanted to answer right then:

"Why did Booth leave?"

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth had absolutely no memory later of pushing the wheelchair back into the airport. He also could not have explained how he got back to the plane. All he knew was that he suddenly found himself standing at the bottom of the steps, needing to re-board but not quite ready to do so.

There was something he had been putting off doing, but there would never be a better time than now. If he waited until he was on the plane, he would have no excuse for not using the computer and setting up a video link. This way would be much easier: he could just offer the very plausible excuse that he wasn't on the plane with the computer. He could not face their friends - _her_ friends - visually just yet. But he knew he had to let them know she was safe.

Sitting down on the steps outside the plane, he took out his phone and dialed Cam's number almost robotically. His forehead rested in his hand, his elbow propped on his knee as he waited for the phone to begin ringing. He was unsure if he would rather that she answer and help him put off reentering the plane, or not answer and spare him from having to tell all of them what he had done to her.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Cam answered her phone on the first ring, closing her eyes and bracing herself when she saw that it was Booth calling her. As had occurred every time her phone rang over the last countless hours, a small crowd of three gathered around her anxiously. Zack had long since had to return to the asylum, leaving yet another hole in the lab family. Angela gripped Hodgins' hand tightly for support, Sweets standing close by with barely veiled concern etched into his young features. This time, they could all see from her face that this was _the_ call - the moment of truth. A sense of nervous expectancy filled the air as she answered: "Booth? I'm here."

His almost whispered _"I've got her"_ sent a double reaction through Cam. First, there was the breathless smile of pure relief that crossed her features, sending up a small cheer from the three gathered around her before they all began talking to each other at once. Second, she had an almost immediate recognition from the sound of his voice that something was very, very badly wrong.

Extricating herself from the celebration surrounding her, she walked a few steps away in the hopes of gaining some privacy. "Booth? Is Dr. Brennan all right?"

His long, shuddering intake of breath told her that her senses had been correct. Something was most definitely wrong.

"No." His voice broke on the one-word answer, causing Cam to inhale sharply as she glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the jubilant squint squad.

At her gasp, he rapidly amended his statement, squeezing his eyes shut and heaving a weary sigh. "No, she's...she's fine, Cam. Really. She's going to be okay."

Ignoring all of the more obvious questions about Brennan's well-being, Cam regained her composure and zeroed in on the heart of the matter, in her opinion. "I'm glad to hear that. Are _you_ okay, Seeley?"

His bitter scoff of derision and accompanying silence answered her question far more honestly than his eventual words, which were laced with sadness. "Yeah. I'm great. Listen, make Angela go home and get some rest. Tell her I'll call her when I'm an hour out from the airport. I'm going to need her to come pick up Dr. Brennan, ride with her to the hospital and stay with her."

Again, Cam exercised her uncanny talent for ignoring everything else and attacking the most glaring portions of a statement. "Dr. Brennan? Since when do _you_ refer to her as Dr. Brennan? And for that matter, since when do you let anybody else stand guard over her? What's going on over there, Booth?"

He had intended to tell her. He truly had. The need to confess to somebody was almost overwhelming. It was the tone in her voice that stopped him - the tone that told him she could be counted on to understand and have his back. It was more than he could bear right then. He could not listen to Cam tell him he had done the right thing when it was _so, so damn obvious_ that he had fucked everything up so very badly. And he sure as hell could not let her ask him if he had told his partner he loved her.

"Nothing, Camille. We'll be home in 20 hours." He felt like a coward when he disconnected the call and turned his phone off so no one could call him back. If his new plan worked out, it wouldn't matter anyway. He had no intention of staying in D.C. past the time that she was released from the hospital.

ooo … ooo … ooo

 _'Why did Booth leave?'_

Naji clamped down on his tongue, suppressing the sarcastic sentiments that instantly sprang to mind. Somehow, he understood that it would be counterproductive to spit out something along the lines of, _'Oh, sorry, were you not finished stabbing knives into his heart yet? Let me go get him...'_

So instead, he settled for thinking the vicious thoughts in his mind while silently repeating the mantra that it really, really wasn't her fault. She was suffering as much or more than Booth, and it would do him well to remember that if he hoped to help either of them. He was, in truth, almost as concerned for her as he was for Booth. He liked her, what little he had seen of her in her lucid moments, and understood that many of her reactions were undoubtedly drug and trauma induced.

Even so, he had absolutely nothing civil to say in response to her question, so he just ignored it and went back to the neutral ground of his original topic - where they were. With great effort, he kept his voice extremely calm and gentle. "We're on a plane at the airport in Tirana. It's a private jet, actually. Booth borrowed it from your friend Dr. Hodgins to come find you. We'll be taking off soon."

He watched her eyes carefully when he mentioned Booth again, but received no reaction other than a slow nod and her eyes flitting toward the door through which Booth had disappeared.

She seemed to be considering carefully, so he waited a moment for her to speak. When she did, her statement should have been baffling, but it actually made sense to him. He had been wondering just how awake she had really been when she 'woke up' and talked to Booth while he was dressing her. Her question gave him that answer. "So there really is a plane?"

Hoping he was reading between the lines correctly, he gave the best answer he could. "Yeah, that part was real. Booth telling you we were at the airport was real. You holding onto his hand was real, too." Hesitating for a moment, he decided to just push on and hope he was right, hedging his bets by approaching the topic as non-threateningly as he could. "I'm guessing that's a bit of a problem right now - you know, what's real and what's not real."

She was frowning when she replied, her answer given in trademark Brennan scientific speak, even if it were a bit halting and seemed to require all of her concentration. But he saw right through it, even after having only a grand total of two semi-lucid conversations with her. "No. Reality is, by definition, those things that are actual and true. My current physical and mental conditions have no effect upon reality. What is real is real."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes - what had Booth gotten himself into? - he tried again. "Okay. I'll rephrase. I'm guessing that _knowing_ what those 'actual' and 'true' things are is a bit of a problem right now, given your, y'know, 'current physical and mental' conditions."

Again she spoke, her words seeming to require great effort. "I will admit...I will admit that I am experiencing a degree of uncertainty in that regard."

Naji just nodded, his suspicions confirmed. Now he just had to convince Booth to stop taking everything she said and did to heart until _she_ figured out what was going on, but he had no idea how to go about that. Too much damage had already been done, and he had a feeling Booth wouldn't listen. Stepping away to the small kitchen area, he considered his next words as he poured her a glass of water, which she accepted readily upon his return.

"The drugs aren't helping with that, I'm sure." It was a concession to the pain he had seen on her face when she admitted she wasn't sure what was real. For some reason, that was a particularly bothersome idea to her, and he had got that loud and clear. It was his way of letting her off the hook. "The best thing you can do right now is sleep. Let everything get out of your system before you think about it anymore. I don't know about all the others, but the one drug that _I_ gave you could be enough to mix everything up. Just...just lay here and sleep, and don't worry about anything, okay?"

Miraculously, she agreed to it, already beginning to yawn again. To his everlasting relief, she had fallen back asleep well before the door opened and Booth reappeared.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Naji had crashed into one of the nice, reclining leather seats, and was sincerely hoping Booth intended to do the same. After entering rather tentatively and seeing that Brennan was asleep, Booth actually did land in the other chair, much to Naji's relief.

He had just begun reclaiming his hopes for a nice, quiet, uneventful plane ride back to Lisbon when the next bomb dropped in his lap, this time courtesy of Seeley Booth. He really, really should have seen this coming.

"I need another favor, Naji. I want to take you up on an old offer. I need you to hire me."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Naji paused a beat before answering. He had expected some form of conversation to eventually come up again about Booth paying him for his services, which he had no intention of accepting. That was something he had been ready for, almost since the beginning of the whole ordeal. He had even been prepared for Booth to ask about performing some quick, random missions from time to time to pay back the money he felt he owed Hodgins - something else Naji had no intention of going for. Booth didn't know it yet, but Hodgins was going to be taken care of anyway. Naji was a 'down to the last detail' kind of guy.

But this particular conversation...he was pretty certain that Booth was talking about a 'full-time basis, quit the FBI and get the hell out of Dodge' kind of thing. Somehow, he managed to adopt a neutral expression as he gave that request all the consideration he felt it deserved - absolutely none.

Clearing his throat, he made the first of what he knew would be multiple attempts to talk his friend out of a very bad idea. When Booth got an idea stuck in his head, he could be like a dog with a meaty bone - he wasn't letting it go. "Sorry, man. My roster's full." He tried to appear very nonchalant as he looked around the interior of the cabin. "Why the hell doesn't your friend stock a mini bar on this thing? I could use a drink." Kicking his chair back and closing his eyes, he carried right on, conversationally. "Not sure _you_ need any, though. The way you're talking, it sounds like you're plenty hammered enough."

Booth's eyes were piercing into the side of his head - he could actually almost _feel_ it. "I'm serious, Naji."

Bingo. Naji lifted his head up then and fixed his own piercing look right back at Booth. Now they were getting somewhere. "So am I. I suppose you're prepared to cut all ties? Go underground, never see your son again?"

He knew Booth would never do that; but just as he had figured, no way it was going to be that easy, either. Booth was sure to have an answer for everything, and he was already shaking his head. "No. I'm not talking about your old offer of being your partner. You know why I can't do that now. Just hire me as one of your men. I wouldn't have to go underground, and I'd still be able to see Parker in between missions, just as much as I do now."

Naji never even blinked, his gaze steady. "Oh, so you mean just put you on the front lines. Well in _that_ case _..."_

Booth was looking at him expectantly, like Naji was about to save him from some horrible fate. It almost made him feel bad for being so harsh. Almost.

"In that case, the answer's _hell_ no. Forget it. For one thing, I don't hire fathers with young kids. Second, I don't hire heartbroken Romeos who halfway _want_ to get themselves blown up. That's just bad business...y'know, too much paperwork. Third, I don't hire idiots, and you're acting like one. So that's three strikes. You're out."

Booth was getting angry, and Naji was glad to see it. It was completely misplaced, but it beat the hell out of mopey and depressed. "I'm qualified, Naji, and you know it. And you're not the only guy in town - if you don't hire me, I'll just find somebody else in the business who will."

The half smile that Naji fired back was tight and lethal, no mirth evident in his expression at all. Time for the kill shot. "Thanks for the warning. I know those other guys in town, if only by necessity. When the occasion calls for it, we share certain information and intelligence." He leaned sideways just a little bit in Booth's direction, half whispering as though he were divulging confidential information. "They're not hiring you either. I'll have you blacklisted by tomorrow morning." If anything, his expression grew more dangerous, even as he added a singsong lilt to his voice with his next words. "Don't quit your day job."

And with that he kicked back in his chair again, firing one final shot at Booth, who was fuming. "You're welcome." Closing his eyes, he decided his best course of action was pretending to go to sleep until Booth calmed down enough that he could attempt a rational discussion with him.

Moments later, he heard the bathroom door slam as Booth disappeared into it carrying his bag. He didn't know for sure, but when Booth returned and flopped back into the chair in a pair of jeans and a FBI sweatshirt over a t-shirt, Naji had a feeling that the very expensive suit was probably stuffed in the trashcan of the bathroom. It didn't bother him - he could certainly understand why Booth would never want to see it again.

ooo … ooo … ooo

A few hours later, still two hours from Lisbon, the first leg of their flight was becoming never-ending for Naji.

It had started almost as soon as the plane took off. For all that Booth seemed determined to get far away from Brennan once she was safe in D.C., in the meantime he couldn't seem to stay away from her. At first, he jumped up at every small sound she made, torn between his compelling urge to check on her and his hesitancy to go near her. He had even gone so far as leaning in to check her breathing at one point when she was almost disturbingly still and quiet, and readjusting the pillows beneath her head when she seemed restless.

It was driving Naji completely insane, making him cringe every time Booth approached her. So far, their luck had held and she had yet to open her eyes and find Booth standing there. Again. But Naji knew it was bound to happen sooner or later if he kept it up, with predictable results. The only thing he didn't understand was why Booth refused to see that, though there was a mild suspicion about that forming in his mind. Finally, when Booth was standing over her for what must have been the tenth time, Naji couldn't take it any longer. He decided with a sigh that it was time to start a conversation he knew he had to attempt. As he suspected, it didn't go very well.

"Would you please just stop? She's fine. She's not going anywhere. Why don't you just try to sleep? I'll listen out for her."

Still angry from their earlier conversation, Booth ignored him. Undaunted, Naji carried on. "I'm not the enemy, Seel. In fact, I'm trying to help. Just sit down and relax for a while. You've been through almost as much hell as she has. It's no wonder you're not making good decisions right now."

The thinly veiled implication broke through to Booth, as evidenced by the slight jump in his jaw. "And exactly what bad decisions do you think I'm making?"

Naji considered his next words carefully, his tone softening a little bit as he tried to change his approach. "I understand what you're doing. I get it. I get that you feel responsible for what she's going through. I get that you need to do _something_ , and that you need to reassure yourself she's okay. What I don't get is why you're taking the risk of making things worse."

Booth was glaring at him now, and most people would have probably shriveled under the dark anger in his gaze. "You didn't answer my question. If you've got something to say to me, Naji, then just say it."

That was one thing Naji knew he could do. Coaxing wasn't working, so he'd try pissing him off completely. "I'll be glad to, but it's not what you want to hear. The dead level truth is that you're going about this completely ass-backwards. Instead of hovering over her now and then taking off like a bat out of hell when we get to D.C., why don't you try reversing the process? Do your disappearing act _now_ until she can recover a little bit, and then be there for her later when she starts to figure this whole thing out? Because I promise you, when this all hits her, she's going to have a million-and-one questions that you're the only one even remotely qualified to answer for her. And I can almost guarantee you she's going to seek you out when that happens, at least if you don't finish the job now of running her off completely because you just refuse to back the fuck off for five minutes."

As is normally the case when people are subjected to truths they would rather not face, Booth was becoming furious. "You're the one who needs to back off, Naji," he hissed. "You don't know a damn thing about it."

The two men were practically toe to toe by that point, and Naji's own frustration was rising. "I don't know a damn thing about it?" he choked out on a scoffing laugh. "You're talking to the poor bastard that's been stuck right in the middle of this whole goddamn nightmare! So I'll _tell_ you what I know. I know that one minute she's holding onto you like you're some damned knight in shining armor, and the next she's acting like you're Jack-the-fucking-Ripper. I know that hurts like hell and you're starting to think she'd be better off without you around, and I also know that that's complete bullshit. It might be bullshit that makes you feel better and more noble about hitting the road the first minute you get a chance, but it's still bullshit. And it's self-serving bullshit, at that."

Naji was on a roll now, and he had no intention of stopping. "Next let's talk about what I _don't_ know. Since apparently you know everything, maybe you can enlighten me. What I don't know is why, when you know good and well what's going to happen if she wakes up and sees you standing over her, are you going to all the trouble to hover over her every time she squeaks? If you're so hell-bent on getting away from her that you're willing to give up a perfectly good career getting shot at _occasionally_ so you can go get shot at every damn day, then what difference does it make if her pillow is angled wrong today? You don't plan on being around tomorrow anyway, when she's going to have an even bigger problem. You know what I'm starting to think? I think that at this point you're halfway hoping she _will_ wake up terrified of you and give you no _choice_ but to leave. You don't have the balls to walk away on your own, but you don't have a damn clue what else _to_ do for her."

Without any warning, Booth's right hook connected squarely with Naji's jaw, knocking him backward onto the ground. Booth stood seething, his hands on his hips as he stared down at him, daring him to retaliate. With a wry chuckle, Naji sat up, gingerly probing his jaw with his fingers. Odd though it seemed, his classic smirk was beginning to appear on his face as he looked up at Booth. "Good to know I was right for once."

Booth had already begun backing down, his anger fading as quickly as it had flared up, offering his outstretched hand to help pull Naji back up to his feet. Naji accepted it gratefully, clapping Booth on the shoulder before returning to his seat.

"Now I'm sure as hell not going to hire you."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Slowly, Booth lowered himself into the other chair across the way from Naji. He wanted nothing more than to dismiss everything Naji had said, but he found himself unable to. The initial flash of blinding rage that he first experienced had faded, leaving him to come to terms with the uncomfortable fact that some of Naji's words had the ring of truth about them. Despite his best efforts not to, he found himself turning the words over and over in his mind.

He knew Naji was completely right about at least one thing: Booth _did_ think walking away from her was the best course of action. And that fact had not changed. Even after hearing Naji's fierce rebuttal of that theory, he still believed getting away from her was the best thing he could do for her. How could Naji or anyone else actually believe otherwise, if she feared him? How could his presence cause her anything but more pain? It was the right thing to do, regardless of his own feelings.

He also knew, however, that Naji was correct in at least one another assumption: that he would never be able to walk away from her and abandon her without being forced to, even knowing it was for her own good. And though that thought should have been at least mildly encouraging, at the moment it just made him feel worse. It made him, in fact, feel like a complete coward for not having the balls to go through with what he thought he needed to do for her.

What was even worse was the reason _why_ he couldn't do it; he could proclaim all day that it was because he knew her fear of being abandoned. It would sound very noble, and it wouldn't be a lie to say that that concern had crossed his mind, painfully so. But no.

In the end, the reason he couldn't walk away was, in Naji's words, a very self-serving one: he simply didn't want to. Couldn't. Wasn't even capable of it. Had things worked out differently on this trip, that fact might have even meant something to her - to _them._ Maybe, if he could have proved it to her, it could have been what she needed to trust him enough to fully let him in. It had to be the most cruelly ironic scenario that fate could have constructed - a situation in which abandoning her would cause her _less_ pain than staying.

But perhaps the statement that was most troubling to him was the one that had prompted him to strike out in blind fury and punch the man who had gone to such great lengths to help him. Naji had been correct that he knew what would probably happen if she woke up and saw him standing over her. He had not been able to resist the compulsion to take care of her, but he wasn't stupid either. He knew what she would most likely think, and he knew how she would probably react. Whether Naji was aware of it or not, Booth's heart had been racing in his chest each time he approached her, waiting for her to react in exactly the expected manner.

Why, then, had he done it? As he considered that question, Naji's words became more troubling by the second, as his own guilt and subsequent questioning of his own character took him to a very dark place. Had he, in fact, been guilty of what Naji suggested - hoping that she would react so vehemently to his presence that her terror would make his decision for him, forcing him to leave? Had he really been that selfish, being willing to scare her?

He would not have thought himself capable of trying to scare her intentionally, especially like _that_ , and certainly not after what he had already done to her. And yet how else could his actions be explained? A sense of panic was beginning to grip him, one that felt as though his entire foundation had just slipped out from beneath him and sent him hurtling helplessly toward the bottom of the cliff.

 _'My God,'_ he thought. _Was_ he the monster he had spent a lifetime trying to avoid becoming? Had he, like his father before him, coldly and intentionally hurt the woman he purported to love? Had he chosen to handle the situation this way because he was _trying_ to hurt her, convincing himself that it had been for her good, in much the same way his father had been in denial of his own problems? Had there been a different way he could have saved her, a possibility that he had ignored for some dark reason?

The thought shook him to the core as the questions raced through his mind. It would certainly explain his body's reaction back in that room when the events had unfolded. That memory, as it did each time, made him feel sick. What he had done was, in his eyes, even worse than what his father had done to his mother and to him.

 _'Escalating patterns of violence,'_ his FBI training helpfully supplied. It had to be true, right? Otherwise, why would Naji's implication have made him so angry? If it _were_ true, he didn't just need to get away from Brennan. He needed to get as far away from Parker as he could too. The world wasn't big enough to get him far _enough_ away.

Then, mercifully, as he careened toward rock bottom and impact seemed inevitable, the answer came to him out of nowhere - redemption in a blinding flash. Suddenly, he _knew_ why he had been unable to stay away from her, and it wasn't the reason Naji thought. It wasn't because he was like his father, either. Relief flooded him like a physical force, and before he even had time to process it, the words had welled up and were spilling softly out of his mouth.

"You were wrong about one thing, Naji." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Naji's head snap toward him. His own eyes slipped shut in pure gratitude as the terror released its hold on him, his voice steady as he shared the rest of his epiphany. "I didn't keep going near her because I wanted her to wake up and be afraid of me. I did it because I was hoping she would wake up and _not_ be. I didn't want her to make me leave. I was praying she would want me to stay."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Silence reigned for quite some time following Booth's proclamation. Naji had not felt compelled to answer; Booth's statement stood for itself and didn't really require one. Even when Brennan shifted in her sleep several times, Booth never moved other than to turn and quietly watch to see that she was okay. When the pilot notified them that they were only 30 minutes out from Lisbon and still Booth left her alone, Naji began to relax a little bit and grow complacent. Perhaps the worst was over. Maybe Booth had actually listened to him.

As though fate were punishing him for that lapse in watchfulness, Brennan suddenly grumbled a little in her sleep, balling herself up into a tiny ball on the bed with her arms wrapped across her stomach. It seemed obvious that she must be cold, sleeping on top of the covers in Booth's thin t-shirt. It also seemed obvious that being cold was probably what was going to wake her up. She had already been asleep for several hours, and she had been stirring for a while.

When Booth immediately sprang out of his seat with concern written all over his face, only one thought passed through Naji's weary mind: _'No way in hell can_ _this_ _end well.'_ As much as he wanted to, he would not intervene, other than to pointedly adjust the cabin temperature controls and hope Booth would catch the hint to just _wait._ He had spoken his mind, and it was up to Booth to listen or not listen. And he knew Booth wasn't going to let this particular problem go, even if he did try to stop him. He was just too damn chivalrous sometimes for his own good.

Booth looked everywhere he could think to find an extra blanket, and Naji could almost see him mentally kicking himself for having put her on top of the covers. With no blanket available, the only options were either to put more clothes on her, or move her under the covers. Neither option seemed very attractive, as both included touching her; Booth seemed, at best, extremely indecisive about what to do as he stood a few steps from the bed looking down at her. Clearly, he was still thinking about what Naji had said, no matter how sure he had seemed of his own earlier words. Now they were being put to the test.

Brennan had relaxed somewhat by that point, rolling back onto her back, and for one wonderful moment Naji thought she would stay asleep and Booth might actually let it go. But then she made a sound that was close to a whimper, wrapping her arms around her stomach as she shifted, and Naji knew immediately that the deal had been sealed. Something else horrible was about to happen. It wasn't even possible that Booth wouldn't try to do something to help her after hearing that sound.

With no other options open to him, Booth was already shedding his sweatshirt, still unsure whether he intended to simply drape it over her or try to put it on her. Like watching a train wreck about to occur in front of him, Naji could only stare. He knew what was going to happen - _had_ to happen - before she even moved. It was as though she sensed the presence standing over her, making Naji wonder what magnetic force compelled her to open her eyes _every single time_ Booth came near her in an easily misinterpreted way.

She awoke with a start and a small gasp, just as Booth was pulling the sweatshirt over his head. Her eyes flew immediately to the man standing over her, widening slightly as her freshly awakened mind grasped the fact that there was a man standing above her disrobing, his face hidden by the sweatshirt he was removing.

Booth was pulling the shirt over his head when he heard her gasp, and his eyes flew to hers the very moment his head emerged. With his arms still stretched just above his head holding the shirt, Booth went very, very still. Her startled look only lasted for a moment, diminishing somewhat as soon as she recognized him, though her body still seemed tense and her arms stayed wrapped around her stomach. The expression she wore was frustratingly unreadable as both of them watched each other, each seeming to wait for the other to move first. Booth tracked her eyes as they ran down from his face to his stomach, and it was the realization that his t-shirt had ridden halfway up his chest that jolted him into action. He brought the sweatshirt down from over his head immediately, holding it outstretched toward her with one hand - almost as an explanation - as the other hand yanked his t-shirt back down into place.

Booth only noticed the fact that she seemed to shrink back into the bed away from his hand; but at the same time Naji was noticing that her color really didn't look so good as she shifted uncomfortably on the bed. Doubt was beginning to fill Booth's mind about himself again, but some part of him still had enough hope in his earlier epiphany to know that it would be a good idea to try to explain. "Bones," he began - but that was as far as he got.

Her hand suddenly clamped over her mouth, eyes searching the cabin desperately, as though looking for an escape route. Her features contorted in near panic. Without warning, she bolted from the bed. She unsteadily ran in the direction of the bathroom, stumbling to her knees twice and practically falling in the door on weak legs. She slammed it behind her.

Complete devastation was the only possible word to describe the look on Booth's face. Dropping the sweatshirt where he stood, he turned and made his way through the door that led through a short passageway to the cockpit area. After throwing a harsh order over his shoulder to Naji to make sure she was okay, he disappeared through the door, slamming it behind him so hard that Naji was surprised it didn't break in two.

Moments later, Naji heard the unmistakable sounds of retching coming from behind the bathroom door, as Brennan's stomach finally rebelled completely against the cocktail of drugs she had been subjected to. It had been bound to happen. Her reactions both before and after awakening suddenly made sense, but it was a little late.

With a weary sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that until the plane landed in Lisbon he was on his own with her, and probably all the way to D.C. as well. There was very little chance that Booth was coming back, and even less chance that Naji was going to convince him Brennan's reaction had been thanks to nausea rather than cold or fear. She didn't realize it, but she had just given Booth the last reason he needed to think that leaving was a good idea, and had probably just enabled him to go through with it. At that point, Naji was just thankful Booth had chosen the door to the cockpit rather than looking for a parachute. Or, worse yet, _not_ looking for a parachute.

As he listened through the door to Brennan continuing to heave, he shoved his hands uselessly in his pockets and tried to figure out what to do next. When he did so, he felt Brennan's cell phone there, forgotten since he had used it as a decoy to talk to her when he first found her. An idea began to form in his mind as his hand closed around it, but along with that idea his mind issued a warning that it would be a huge gamble. There would be no chance of going back and fixing it if he was wrong. What he was planning would either force Booth back into his right mind and start the healing process for both of the partners, or it would finish the job of ripping them apart completely.

They were less than 30 minutes from Lisbon. Not much time to make a decision so important, but Naji knew damn well Booth wouldn't be on that Lisbon to D.C. flight if he didn't force his hand. Hoping he wasn't making a mistake and feeling like a traitor, he took her phone out and started pressing buttons. Somebody needed to walk away, all right. But it wasn't going to be Booth.

TO BE CONTINUED….


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Booth sat on the ground against the wall in the narrow passageway between the cabin and the cockpit, feet flat on the floor in front of him. His arms rested on his bent knees, his head leaning back against the wall. Never in his life had he felt more tired. Something Naji had said about stress and making bad decisions was trying to break through into his mind, but he didn't want to hear it. All he wanted to focus on was what he had just seen, which was his partner actually physically _running_ from him.

His eyes squeezed shut as he replayed the moment vividly in his brain, trying to put himself into her place. He tried to feel what it must have been like for her to awaken from a sound sleep and see the man who already attacked her, standing over her bed and _removing his fucking clothes_. His hands came up and his face fell forward into them as the full impact of that hit him. She had been sound asleep, defenseless. And he had scared her half to death. Of him. Again.

He sat there, turning that horrible image over and over in his mind, for so long that he did not even notice when the pictures racing through his mind changed, becoming more disjointed and random as much needed sleep finally overtook his exhausted frame.

But this sleep was anything but peaceful. First there was her - always her - running, but this time not from him. She was running from something else - something evil - and he was giving chase, gun drawn and lungs burning as he desperately pushed himself onward. She was screaming his name, asking for his help; but the faster he ran, the farther she slipped away. Finally, he caught up to the man chasing her just as he was about to grab her, tackling him roughly to the ground and rolling him to his back. He had already risen to his knees, pointing his gun straight at her attacker's forehead beneath him, when he finally saw the man's face: it was his own, looking straight back at him.

In his dream, he staggered to his feet and ran in the other direction, as far and fast as he could. Someone was screaming one word over and over: "Daddy! Daddy!" And he could hear footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Parker behind him, trying to catch up. Racing back and grabbing him up in his arms, he ran with him as fast as he could, desperate to get away, running through the streets of D.C. Something jolted him, and he came to a stop. Parker was pounding on his shoulder, pointing one finger behind him. "Look, Dad!" Turning, Booth looked and saw that his son was pointing at the side window of the car they had stopped beside. Something jolted again, and he stepped closer to the window to see what Parker was pointing at. He saw Parker's reflection first, cradled in the arms of the man holding him - the man that should have been him. It wasn't. The reflection that met him was that of his father. Horror filled him, and he could feel Parker start to slide out of his arms.

One more jolt, and suddenly he was awake, his body disturbingly cold. Almost immediately he realized that the jolts he had felt were from the plane touching down in Lisbon - a plane he had no intention of being on when it took off again.

Hoping Naji would not come looking for him, he waited until the plane stopped taxiing to take out his phone and turn it on. It instantly alerted him that he had 11 missed calls. Checking them, he was unsurprised to see that 4 of them had been from Cam. Two were from Angela, no doubt wanting to know when she needed to pick her friend up from the airport. He had promised to call an hour out from D.C., but he had been a little cryptic with Cam about exactly when that would be.

Four of the other five - which were four of the most recent - were from a number he recognized but wished he didn't: the one and only Max Keenan. The last number he didn't recognize; but considering that fate seemed determined to destroy him, it could only be Russ. He ignored the fact that there were voicemails and instead dialed Angela's number. He didn't have to worry about Max or Russ anyway. Angela was probably going to beat them to it.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Eventually the sounds of gagging and heaving stopped, and then Naji could hear water running for several long minutes. When the bathroom door opened, he stepped sideways so that he wasn't blocking the door, instead standing beside it and offering Brennan his arm to steady herself. Though she looked pale and wrung out, he was still surprised when she accepted it - but only after the second time that her knees nearly gave out on her. Despite her disheveled appearance, her eyes were clear and lucid if a bit weak. Helping her to the bed, he watched as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. He handed her another glass of water, and she took it and sipped for a moment before speaking, seeming very comfortable in his presence.

"Where's Booth? He was here...before."

Naji tilted his head a little to the side. This was one of those occasions where discretion was called for. "He's up in the cockpit, checking in with the pilot. I'm sure he'll be back in a minute." Only he wasn't sure of that. That was exactly the problem. He wasn't sure Booth was coming back at all unless he was forced to, and there was only one way to do that. But was it really the best thing for either Booth or Brennan at this stage?

Clearing his throat, he decided that before his final decision was made, he would test it out on her. "It's going to be goodbye soon. We're on final approach to Lisbon, and that's my stop. It'll just be you and Booth the rest of the way."

Naji didn't dare blink, carefully gauging her reaction. Until the plane touched down, he could still back out. If she freaked out completely, he could still erase what he had put in her phone, and accompany her the rest of the way himself if necessary. As much as he wanted to help Booth and have this whole ordeal end with at least a tiny chance of a future happily-ever-after for them, he wasn't going to risk traumatizing her any more if she seemed too uncomfortable with being left alone with Booth. The idea was to force _Booth's_ hand, not hers. If the tables were turned and it were Irene...

That thought stopped him cold. He had been having thoughts like that as he observed Booth and Brennan, ever since this experience began. As a result, he was coming to realize a few things about his own feelings for _his_ fiercely independent business partner. Maybe all that rubbish he continually spouted to himself about never having been in love was just that: rubbish. For the time being, he would have to shelve those thoughts, but he knew he would be revisiting the issue and soon. Life was starting to seem particularly short, and regret was a cold bedfellow.

He had never taken his eyes from Brennan, and she did not seem uneasy or troubled by his announcement. Instead, she simply nodded in reply, seeming to consider what she should say. He didn't have to wait long. "Then I want to say thank you. I am certain that I'm not remembering everything clearly right now, but I do remember that you helped us. Thank you."

One of Naji's eyebrows had risen to the top of his head. Her words were simple and obviously sincere, but what he had found particularly interesting was her use of the word "us" instead of "me." That one word told him that he was going to go through with his plan after all. It was time Booth hear some of those statements instead of him. Nodding his head back at her in acceptance of her thanks, he reached in his pocket and pulled out her phone.

"Don't thank me yet. Here." He held the phone out toward her. "I'm afraid I'm going to ask you a favor in return. Can you remember something for me?"

Her own eyebrow was raised a little now, and she was looking at him and the phone like he had just informed her that he thought the parietal bone was located in the foot. "Yes, of course," she answered slowly, as though talking to a small child, and a particularly ignorant one at that. "My memory is excellent."

Naji couldn't quite control the amused twist of his lips at her exaggeratedly patient tone. Hadn't she _just_ finished informing him that her memory was shaky at best right now? So how had he gone from being the recipient of a sincere "thank you" to "you're an idiot" in five seconds? He had a feeling, though, that if he pointed that out he would live to regret it. Quickly. "Okay, okay. Just checking. Good grief. All right, Dr. Brennan. This is your phone."

She cut him off before he could say more. "Yes, I can see that. Were you aware that you have considerable swelling and bruising on the left side of your face?"

He gave up fighting the pull at the corner of his lips, and let the first real smile in a while cross his face. "Yeah. Some asshole hit me. You finished?"

She never missed a beat. "Finished with what?"

He mock rolled his eyes. "Being a know-it-all. _Don't_ answer that. Just listen, because this is actually pretty important, all right? I've programmed some things into your phone. In your contacts, under N.B. you'll find a phone number and code phrase. What I need you to do is _not_ tell Booth or anyone else that you have it, but I need you to hold onto it for him."

Brennan crossed her arms across her chest. "May I ask why?"

Naji shrugged. "Go right ahead, but I don't plan on telling you."

"Then why would I..."

"Exactly." Naji grinned at her. "So hush. All you need to know is that that number and code is now the only way to get in touch with me. It will be effective within an hour of now. I've never done this before for anybody other than Booth, so I'm asking you to keep my trust; this is actually pretty risky for me. For reasons that I can't exactly go into - so don't even ask - Booth doesn't know that I'm leaving when we touch down, which is going to be in just a minute here. I need him not to be able to find me for a while. He's going to go through the roof when..."

Seeing her eyes automatically turn upward and just _knowing_ she would feel compelled to comment, he decided it best to rephrase. "I mean, he's going to be plenty pissed about my leaving. But if you want a way to thank me and protect him at the same time, then I'm asking you to please trust me that I'm doing this for his own good. All of the contact info he had for me is no longer going to work. You now have the only way."

"Why me? What do you want me to do with it?"

"Hold onto it. If Booth is ever in trouble..." - he hesitated for a moment before continuing - "... _or_ you either, _or_ his son, you call that number and give that phrase. You'll be put through to me immediately. Otherwise, don't do anything with it, least of all give it to him right now. That's the important part."

They were on the ground by this time, and Naji was looking out the window nervously.

"Is that all?" she wanted to know.

Looking back at her, Naji smiled. "No. Just one other thing. Take good care of my friend. He needs it right now. And I expect an invitation to the wedding."

Her eyes narrowed just a little bit. "What wedding?"

He couldn't help noticing that she hadn't even questioned the first part, about taking care of Booth. Naji's own eyes sparkled at her with barely restrained mirth as he continued to tease her. "That's B-A-S-A-R-A, when you go to fill out my invitation. You have an excellent memory, after all, so I expect it to be spelled right."

She was scrolling through the contacts. "You didn't give me an address. And I still don't know what wedding you're referring to."

Quickly collecting all of his belongings, he gave her a small salute, already backing toward the door, surprised when she reached her hand out to shake his. He clasped it gently in his own. "I believe you probably don't. Wait about six months and ask Booth what wedding I'm talking about. But do me a favor and have a camera ready when you do." Impulsively, he brought her hand to his lips and dropped a friendly kiss on it. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Brennan."

He began to leave then, but turned around just as he stepped through the door, putting as much sternness in his voice as possible. "But so help me God, I'm not above shooting you if you step through this door and come off of this plane before Booth gets back in this room. Did I mention that I was a sniper too?"

And with that, he was gone.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Moving quickly and staying well hidden, Naji wondered why Booth hadn't come flying off the plane like his ass was on fire yet. He had expected for Booth to come surging through the cabin and out the door before he could make his own escape, forcing a confrontation, and he was very curious why that hadn't happened. Naji arranged for his own private jet to be brought around from the hangar, never taking his eyes off the door to Hodgins jet. Soon he was watching that door through the window of his own jet as Booth's refueled, wondering what was taking Booth so long. He wasn't taking off until he knew for sure that Booth was with her and knew he was gone. He didn't really think Brennan would wander off before Booth discovered that he was missing, but he had learned quickly that with her anything was possible and it was best to be prepared.

Within minutes, the door of the plane opened and Booth stood in it, frantically looking around. Naji watched, still hoping and believing he was doing the right thing, as Booth came off the plane and searched the area for him. When he finally gave up and trudged back toward the plane like he was being led to the gallows, Naji knew it would be okay to leave. She was 100% fully in Booth's care now, which was a good thing now that she was talking, even if Booth probably had yet to realize that. Now there was just one more thing to take care of before Naji could leave. He had already made a decision. No sense waiting.

Pulling his phone out, Naji was suddenly glad that he only had a three hour flight to his European headquarters instead of the 15-plus hour flight Booth and Brennan were going to have. He dialed Irene's number, filled with determination. Irene was as deep in his business dealings as he was; staying away from her to protect her was a cop out, and it was one he wasn't going to engage in any longer. It certainly wasn't like he couldn't protect her, either way.

She answered on the first ring, as was usual when he called. "If it isn't our world traveler."

A confident smile graced his lips. He already knew how she felt about him and what her reaction would be - he realized now that he had known for a long time. It was his own cards he needed to lay down. And it was so much easier when you already knew the girl wanted to go home with you. Permanently. This was going to be fun. "Three hours, baby. I'm coming home. You ready for me?"

Naji could clearly picture the look on her face, and for a second he just reveled in having shocked her momentarily speechless for once. "Baby?" She was trying to sound incredulous and mildly aggravated, but he heard the small catch in her breath. "You get a little too close to that explosion, _dear_?"

It was a good recovery on her part, but he had so much more ammunition. Allowing a little throatiness into his voice, he gave a low chuckle. "The word is _im_ plosion. A controlled blast, directed inward, causing a building to collapse in on itself. Not that exciting." He dropped his voice even a little lower, knowing there was no way she would miss the difference. "An _ex_ plosion, on the other hand, is so much more dangerous. You have to know what you're doing when you get your hands on something explosive _._ But it's sure as hell exciting. And I promise you, baby…I know what I'm doing."

She was completely shocked silent this time, for the only time he could ever remember, and he decided to let her off the hook for just a minute. Carrying on as though he hadn't just rendered her helplessly speechless, he asked, "Are the others back in yet? Call Jennings and tell him that if he puts a scratch on that car flying it home, he's going to be standing on the unemployment line." She still hadn't answered, and he couldn't resist one more hint at what she could expect when he got home. "I need it to take someone that I've always found particularly...explosive...to dinner tonight." She had still never answered when he hung up the phone, his grin stretched all the way across his face. Irene was in for another hell of a shock when he got home - starting about five seconds after he put eyes on her again.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth had known he should have left the plane the moment it touched down in Lisbon instead of stopping to call Angela. The only thing that had stopped him was the fact that leaving would require him to go back into the cabin where Brennan was - and where Naji was too, for that matter. He hadn't really wanted to face either of them at that moment, especially when he was still reeling from the dream vision of himself as his father. His partner - _former_ partner, he reminded himself - would probably run again at the sight of him, and Naji would no doubt try to stop him from leaving. Nothing to look forward to there.

So instead, he took the coward's way out, stalling for time by calling Angela. After he talked to her and arranged for her to meet Naji and Brennan in D.C., he would make his escape. He knew Naji wouldn't abandon Brennan, especially once he realized that Booth wasn't coming back, so it would be safe to leave her on the plane with him. Naji would get her home to D.C. where Angela and Max could take over, and Booth would have no opportunity to hurt her any worse. The plan was foolproof.

He had still been considering that when the phone started ringing, and he wasn't prepared for exactly how fast Angela answered him. "Booth? Is that you? My God, we've been trying to get in touch with you for hours. What's going on? Cam said you needed me to meet Brennan at the airport. Aren't _you_ going to be with her?"

When Angela took a breath, Booth barely even hesitated before answering. He had done every other horrible thing he could imagine in the last 24 hours. Why stop at lying to Brennan's best friend? Forgiveness was probably not forthcoming for his other worse crimes anyway, so what did one more amount to? "Yeah, of course I am. I just think she wants to see you. That's all."

He could hear Angela breathe a sigh of relief. "Booth, thank you. I knew you'd find her. I knew you would never let anything happen to her."

"Angela..." How could she know she was gutting him with that statement?

"No, Booth, I'm serious. And whether she'll admit it or not, I'm sure Bren knew that too. I'm sure she never lost faith in you."

"Angela, stop." He had tried for stern, but it came out little more than a whisper.

Angela either didn't hear him, or thought he was just trying to shrug off her words of praise, making her that much more determined. "She may say she doesn't have faith, but that's exactly what she has, Booth - in _you_. Trust me: whatever happened to her, she held on as long as she did because she knew you were coming."

He was gripping the phone so hard his knuckles were turning white, and he couldn't listen to it anymore. His next words tumbled out in a rush before he had time to consider them. "Angela, I'm not going to be able to call you an hour from the airport. Can you just be there at 7:00 D.C. time? She'll be taking off from here in Lisbon soon, and it's about a 15-hour flight."

He caught his own mistake immediately, and it was way too much to hope for that Angela would miss it. "Wait... _she'll_ be taking off? Okay, Booth, what's going on? I ask again, and don't even think about lying to me: aren't you going to be with her?"

He would admit to anything if it meant she would just stop talking about Brennan holding on for him so he could make everything okay. The thought that Bones had finally picked somebody to trust, that by some miracle that somebody was _him,_ and that he had managed to obliterate that trust in the worst possible way was more than he could bear. Sighing, he decided just to rip the proverbial Band-aid off and be done with it. "No, Ange. No, I won't."

He didn't wait for a reply before disconnecting the call and turning the phone off again so she couldn't call back. Still, at least 10 minutes passed before he got the nerve to make his move. He was not going to subject Brennan to 15 hours of being on a plane with the man she was terrified of. He was leaving, and there wasn't one thing Naji could do about it. Squaring his shoulders, he put on his best 'don't-mess-with-me' face and slammed through the door back into the main cabin, prepared to grab his bag and go.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth knew. He knew the very second that he walked into the cabin and didn't see Naji or his stuff that he was gone. He also knew why. Damn him, Naji had figured out the one way to keep him on that plane, and he had to have known it would work. He processed and accepted that fact within seconds. It was only then that his eyes turned to Brennan.

When he had first burst through the door into the cabin, Brennan's head had popped up in surprise from where she had been pressing buttons on her phone. Now Booth stopped and watched her warily for a moment, both relieved and panicked to see that she was awake and sitting up in the bed, leaning back against the wall.

His mind absently registered the cell phone in her hand, and not-so-absently registered the fact that she was now wearing his sweatshirt he had dropped on the floor earlier - the same one he had been offering her when she bolted; the same one she had awoken to see him standing over her removing. Again, his mind not-so-helpfully reminded him of exactly how that must have looked, sending another stab of self-hatred through him. So why in hell would she be wearing it now? A jolt of confused frustration shot through him, feeling almost like anger.

She was just sitting there looking at him, the phone clutched in her hand. She looked much like he would expect her to if he walked into her office to find her doing paperwork, waiting for him to tell her why he was there. "Booth?" Her voice sounded almost completely normal, if a little scratchy, only adding to his sense of the surreal. She didn't sound afraid or angry, just questioning.

A confused jumble of emotions were running through him, leaving him reeling and unable to distinguish one from another: his anger with Naji, his fear of Brennan's reactions, the pain he had felt at Angela's words, the uncertainty of what was going to happen next, his agonizing questions about his own character. When his mouth did open and the first thought in his mind came rushing out, it sounded harsh even to his own ears. "Why are you wearing that?"

The confusion that flashed across her face was a near mirror image of his own, and he gestured impatiently in explanation. " _That_ \- my sweatshirt." He couldn't have explained why it was so important to him. It just was _._

If anything, the confused look on her face intensified. "For warmth. Was that not what you intended when you offered it to me?"

His mouth fell slightly open, his hands rising to his hips as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then back again. If she had known that, then why had she...

He started to speak, caught his breath, and then tried again. Nothing came out, and he wasn't sure what he would have said anyway. Suddenly, his life depended on tracking down Naji and dragging him back. He couldn't do this. He could not face 15 hours of being alone with her like this, unable to read her and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Realizing he would have to cross in front of her bed to get out the door, he held his hands out to the sides with palms out as though to indicate he had no intention of harming her. The words that came out of his mouth were nonsensical even to his own ears, but he sputtered them out anyway as he rushed past her and out the door. "I'm not - just stay - I'll be right back."

ooo … ooo … ooo

He scanned the area desperately, searching for Naji. Descending the steps, he wandered around aimlessly, knowing it was futile but unable to give up. The urge to run was not one he was used to, and he was finding out that it could be overwhelming. Still, Naji had known what he was doing and had hit him where it hurt - there was no way that Booth wasn't going to be on that plane if no one else he trusted was there to take care of her. The problem was, he wasn't even on his own very short list of people he trusted to take care of her. He simply had no choice.

Turning, he trudged back toward the plane with his head down, not looking back. Knowing Naji, he could probably see him from somewhere, not that that meant Booth had any hope of finding _him._ And he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of making any more of a fool of himself.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth stepped back onto the plane, taking a deep breath as he did so. The best he could hope for was that she would sleep most of the way home, and that she would not have any problems that required him to touch her. The worst case scenario he could think of was her freaking out and trying to escape him in midair, and him having to physically restrain her to keep her from hurting herself. _'Please, God, no. Just don't let that happen. Please.'_

He poked his head around the door before entering. She still sat right where he had left her, but the look on her face this time was anything but normal. What little color had been in her cheeks had drained out, leaving her frighteningly pale as a single tear rolled down. She had a look of horror on her face, but it wasn't directed at him. Her eyes were trained on the display of her phone. In fact, she didn't even seem to know he was there.

That look on her face was enough to propel him into action, everything else forgotten for a moment. Something had her terrified, and if it wasn't him he needed to know what it was. He was by her side in two strides, peering over her shoulder at the phone as though it had personally offended him.

 _"Jesus,_ Bones."

As she sat playing with her phone, she had managed to find the pictures Edon Tolka had taken of her, bound and gagged before he threw her in her van, her fear evident in the picture. As Booth watched, frozen, her thumb hit the button to go to the next image. If he had thought the fear in her eyes in the first picture was bad, the picture after it was even worse. It was the one of her in the van, still bound and gagged, but now with the black pillowcase over her head as well. Booth felt the bile rising in his throat, both at the picture and the small strangled sound she made when she saw it.

His hand shot out like lightning, removing the phone from her grasp and shoving it in his pocket. "God, Bones, you don't need to be looking at that."

Her hands suddenly empty, her face then turned up toward his as though just noticing that he was there. Another tear made its way down her face as she sat looking up at him, and he swallowed hard as he fought the urge to wipe it away. The need to hold her was more intense than any he had ever felt, and under any other circumstances he would have taken her in his arms without hesitation. But now...

Suddenly realizing his close proximity to her, he slowly backed away toward the seats. He was only a few steps away when she shifted, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them tightly. He stopped and stood perfectly still for a moment before recognizing that the gesture was not a defensive one - at least not against him. Her eyes were focused on her knees, not even watching him, and so he continued backing up until his legs hit one of the seats.

"He put a pillowcase over my head."

Everything seemed to stop with her words - his movement, his breathing, possibly even his heart. An overwhelming surge of emotions hit him. His rage for Edon Tolka was renewed, fresher and hotter than ever. Had he known at the time just how very much Edon's actions would eventually be responsible for destroying, he would have killed him himself, slowly. It was one more regret, leaving him with an almost uncontrollable need to put his fist through something. But mingled with that regret and rage were fresh pain for what she had gone through and a piercing sadness that he had been unable to stop it.

"I know. God...I know." His tone was unbelievably gentle considering the fury he felt, and her eyes rose to meet his. In that moment, he was able to read her again, if only for a moment. A fierce protectiveness grew in his chest as her lip trembled when she nodded, allowing him to see that she understood what he meant - that his first 'I know' referred to her statement, and the second to his knowledge of just exactly what that had to have done to her and _why_. His hands clenched into fists as he forced himself to sit down in the seat he had swiveled around to face her, struggling to remember why exactly he couldn't just crush her to his chest and not let go.

"I couldn't see anything. I couldn't fight him." He could hear the tears in her voice, but she had not allowed any more of them to fall.

"I know, Bones." And he did know. He knew _her_ , which meant he knew exactly why her inability to fight in her own defense bothered her as much or more than anything else. The urge to go to her and wrap her in his arms was becoming more than he could bear, but he was terrified of breaking the spell. He gritted his teeth as he grasped the armrest of the seat, scarcely daring to breathe. She was talking to him. Hell, she was _confiding_ in him. Maybe it was just because he was the only person available, but it didn't matter. If handcuffing himself to the farthest point away from her and giving her the keys would just make her comfortable enough to _keep talking to him_ , he would do it and stay there happily for the entire 15 hour flight _._

"Booth?" This time she sounded hesitant, and he tensed as he waited for the tide to turn again, certain that she had just remembered what he had done. "Did you find him?"

If anything, he tensed more at her question, his eyes slipping shut. "Yeah, Bones. I found him. Zack figured out the message you sent on..." His mouth snapped shut and his eyes snapped open, watching when her gaze dropped to the vicinity of his pocket where he had put her phone. Not wanting to remind her of the pictures any more than he already had, he answered the unspoken part of her question. "Yeah, I found him. He'll never hurt anybody again, Bones. I promise."

The corners of her lips turned down in reaction to the disclosure that he had added a name to his kill list for her yet again, and for one frightening moment he thought her entire face would crumple and she would burst into tears. He couldn't let her cry for _him._ He already felt so helpless - he wasn't sure he could handle it if that happened, not when he was so unsure of his place. The fact that she was even conversing with him seemed so unreal already - that alone was more than he had ever expected to receive from her again when he had watched her scramble into the bathroom away from him. But just how far did it go? Would she accept comfort from him, or run from him? Would he do more damage by reaching out to her, or by _not_ reaching out to her? Could he even give comfort, or would he balk at being so close to her?

He almost jumped out of his skin when the intercom buzzed close by his head. Reaching out to answer it from where he sat, he tried to slow his suddenly racing heartbeat. It was the pilot, letting him know they were clear for takeoff. Somehow he stuttered out an answer, letting him know to take off when ready.

When he turned back carefully to face her, he felt no small amount of relief to see that the moment had passed and she had regained her composure. Under normal conditions, he would have been able to predict her next question, knowing that she would turn to facts and details when the emotional became too much. "How did you find me?"

Sucking in air sharply, he floundered once again as he wondered how to answer that question. He certainly didn't intend to tell her that he had beat the information out of Edon, hurting him mark for mark with her and enjoying it, or that he would have gladly applied any torture technique necessary to make the little bastard talk. And he certainly couldn't mention the fact that if he were able to dig him up and revive him, his new favorite fantasy was killing him again, this time personally. "In interrogation, Edon told me where he, y'know..."

"Sold me?"

He flinched at that. "Yeah. He took you to Vlore. I had the name of the nightclub that they used as a front, so it wasn't hard from there to track you down." He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together nervously, suddenly fidgety and unable to look anywhere but at her. "And, uh...well you know the rest."

She pulled her knees tighter against her chest, her own eyes dropping down, one hand suddenly finding and picking at an invisible spot on the bedspread. "Booth, I..." Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head to look directly at him as she said what she needed him to know. "I don't, actually. I was given so many drugs, and I..." She stopped again to steady her voice which was becoming shaky again, but he never once looked up at her. "I don't understand or even trust some of my memories, particularly past the point of your arrival. I just can't remember clearly."

His head dropped forward, his eyes squeezing shut. So that was it. She remembered it, but she just couldn't believe it had happened. He certainly knew the feeling. His voice trembled with the realization that the worst was yet to come. Any hope that had been daring to rise up in him was quickly dashed. "You will." He heaved a heavy, resigned sigh before repeating the words, sadness resonating in his tone. "You will."

It was the beginning of a long silence.

Ooo … ooo … ooo

 _"_ Will _you_ help me remember what happened?"

At her words, unexpected after such a long period of uncomfortable quiet, Booth's heart nearly stopped. Her voice was clear, her tone sincere, but something about it caught his attention. Finally looking up, his eyes locked onto her face. She was meeting his gaze bravely with wide, watery blue eyes, but that changed almost as soon as he looked at her. Suddenly, much as he had been doing earlier, her eyes were sweeping the room and focusing on anything and everything but him.

He would not have believed it possible that there was anything she could ask of him that he would deny her at that point. But she had managed to ask the one thing he _had_ to deny her for the sake of his sanity. He could not - _would_ not - sit and tell her what he had been forced to do, not when the plane had barely taken off and they were trapped together for the foreseeable future; and especially not when she looked like she wasn't sure if she really wanted him to answer.

He would be willing to crawl across broken glass if she just asked, but what she was asking of him now was impossible. Just the thought of trying to calmly give her details about his grabbing her, forcing her onto a bed against her will and holding her down while he simulated a forced sex act on her was ludicrous, and enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. What if he left out some small detail she actually remembered, making her think he was hiding something? What if he put in some small detail she _didn't_ remember, and it sent her over the edge?

She may have told him she didn't remember much, but her downcast eyes and fidgety behavior when she said it had been enough to let him know that she was aware _something_ bad had happened between them. Her complete avoidance of looking at him now just confirmed it. He didn't know how much she did remember, but spilling his guts was not the way he intended to find out.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he fixed his eyes on a point just over her left shoulder. If she truly wanted to remember now, he would help her if it killed him, but he was going about it in a different way - one that didn't involve him reciting a narrative of his worst nightmare like some kind of twisted bedtime story. For starters, he was going to stall. "What's the last thing you remember clearly?" Good, he thought. It was a logical question - she would appreciate that - plus he only sounded mildly terrified that she might actually answer.

Her eyes briefly flicked across his face, and then he watched them lose focus as she lost herself in her thoughts. He could see the moment when the memory hit her, evident in the pain that flashed across her eyes, and he held his breath as he waited for her to stab him through the heart with it.

She sat for long moments, her hands grasping each other and her fingers twisting. "I can't be sure which is the most recent. While many of my memories are quite vivid, I seem to be unable to arrange them in chronological order."

He studied her sharply, able to do so because she still wasn't looking at him. So she was stalling too. What she was saying was almost certainly true, but he easily picked up that it was an evasion of his question - meaning that she was no more willing to bring it up than he was. Having found a temporary escape route, Booth took it and ran.

"Maybe you should just give it some time, Bones - let the memories come back naturally." He sounded too light, too chirpy, too normal and he hated it. Surely even she could hear how forced it was - he was acting like a guilty man trying to cover a crime, and badly at that. Recognizing it but unable to stop, he continued the poor act by forcing what he hoped was a casual smile onto his face, not even caring how transparent he was if she would just let him get away with it - just let him get away, period. Slapping his palms onto his knees as though making to end the conversation, he leaned forward a little. "We should both try to get some sleep, huh?"

Her eyes were wide when they snapped back to him, and she seemed to tense up hard for just a moment before visibly making an effort to relax. Booth saw it, the fake smile dropping off his face, and he could feel the flush rising up his cheeks from his neck as he correctly interpreted her reaction. "No, I didn't mean - I meant right here in the chair. Me, I mean. I'll sleep right here, not..." He forced himself to take a deep breath and _just_ _shut up._

This. This was exactly why he needed to be away from her, damnit. "Let's just get some rest, huh?" Leaning his seat back, he closed his eyes and pretended to be going to sleep, knowing there was no possibility that he would actually do so - especially not when he could _feel_ her eyes burning into him.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Brennan leaned forward, pushing through her knees and onto her stomach, her head at the foot of the bed and eyes glued on Booth. She was no longer tired at the moment, and so she simply lay on her stomach watching him pretend to sleep. Her thoughts were troubled as she tried to solve the puzzle of her body's confusing reactions to Booth's presence and actions.

Much of what had happened swam in a jumble in her brain - her time with Edon; her time chained to a bed being forcefully injected with drugs; Naji's appearance and her fear that she was being sold to him; Booth's arrival and all that happened afterwards.

She had many vivid fragments of memories from each portion of her captivity, but she _was_ finding it a challenge to put them in any type of chronological order. That part of what she had told Booth was true. There was, however, one fragment of memory more vivid than the rest, and it was the one she had kept coming back to throughout her conversation with him. It was the one for which she most wanted answers.

So why had she not simply asked him about it when he gave her an opening? For that matter, why had he not simply answered her question when she first asked? Uneasiness was beginning to grow in her again, as it had on earlier occasions when this particular memory assailed her, and this time she did not fight it.

Once again, she allowed the memory to wash over her as she lay watching him. Increasingly, as she remembered being painfully pinned down by a strong body, her wrists burning and her leg searing in agony as her makeshift glass weapon cut into her, the face she saw was not that of Edon Tolka. His image faded more rapidly every time the memory hit her, being quickly replaced with Booth's for much more of the event. She had already accepted that Edon had not truly been there, so that fact might not have been so frightening now except for one small detail.

As it did each time the memory assaulted her, she could not help but remember the worst moment - one that she could not make sense of, even in the context of Booth's whispered explanations and assurances while everything was happening. When she had felt her attacker's body reacting as he straddled her, hardening as she struggled against him, she had been certain she was about to be raped. At that point, as pure, primal terror had washed over her, the face she had seen was Edon Tolka's. She had yet to remember _that_ portion of the events with Booth's face attached to it…consciously resisted doing so, in fact. But despite her efforts, the face was turning into Booth's at a point closer to that event each time, leaving her more unable to resist it and more uneasy every time the memory surfaced.

Either way, she desperately wanted to hear Booth's version. She needed to know what was real and what wasn't, and he was the only one who could help her.

But even though she _thought_ she wanted to know, she could not deny the relief she had felt when Booth declined to answer her. It was an irrational reaction, but a powerful one. And yet, mixed in with the relief was an even greater uneasiness at the fact that he was obviously evading her question. This was Booth, after all, proponent of forcing her to talk about _everything_ and face all of her emotions. Why was it different this time? And how could she feel such contrasting emotions - relief and gut-clenching suspicion at the same time - in reaction to his not wanting to talk about it?

Logically, she knew that Booth would not hurt her. Her brain knew it as fact, and she did not question that. He had flown halfway around the world and killed multiple people to save her, after all, and it wasn't the first time he had gone to great lengths to find her. Clearly he had no intention of hurting her - quite the opposite, in fact. He was always intent on protecting her, cautious about keeping her safe, to a fault.

Why then, when her brain was so sure of that, did her body seem determined to respond to him with a fear reaction? Why did proximity to him suddenly make her nervous in a way it never had before? Even more confusingly, why did it only happen at certain times, while at other times she found herself craving closeness with him?

In stark contrast to the flash of fear she had felt when he stood over her removing his sweatshirt, by the time she came out of the bathroom she was looking for him. She had intended to try to say something about it then, but he was gone. It had hurt, if she were to be truthful, that he was not there when she emerged. She had been grateful for Mr. Basara's assistance, but where was Booth? In that moment, she would have given anything for his presence - all traces of that fear response were gone. In fact, after Naji's departure, she had made a point of retrieving the sweatshirt and putting it on, finding more comfort in the fact that it was Booth's and it smelled like him than she did in the warmth.

Flashing forward, her mind lit on the moment that Booth had returned and found her looking at the images on her phone. Everything Edon had done to her had come crashing back onto her at once when she saw them, and when she looked up at Booth she had felt no discomfort at his presence. Instead, she had found herself hoping that he might offer a guy hug - one of the long, firm, tight ones which she was actually fairly certain two heterosexual males would not often engage in despite the moniker he had given them.

Memories of his warm embrace before she left the D.C. airport had flooded through her; had he not backed away from her when he did, she might have attempted to recreate it by throwing herself into his arms. Despite her tears, he never attempted to physically console her, and she had to admit that she felt a slight sting of rejection based on that fact. Much though she hated psychology, it might explain why she had shifted position to draw her knees up and wrap her own arms around herself as some of her memories spilled out to him, hugging herself and seeking comfort in any way she could.

Though he had seemed uncomfortable and still never approached her, words could not describe how tender he had been when she shared those memories stirred up by the pictures. She had known that he understood not only how frightened she had been by her sightlessness, but _why_. He knew about the Gravedigger, and he knew about her confinement in her foster parents' trunk. In that moment, when his metaphorical heart was in his eyes and not even she could feign obliviousness, she had wondered how she could have ever feared him or doubted him for a moment.

But then she had tried to talk to him about it, and he had shut her down. Why?

His breathing pattern indicated that he was as wide awake as she, and tension was evident in his posture.

She knew that she needed to say something to him. But the only person who could usually help her know what _to_ say in awkward social situations obviously did not wish to speak to her.

In lieu of talking to him, the next best thing that she could do would be to try to set her memories in order, regaining control of her body in the process. If he wouldn't help, she would do it alone. Concluding that it would make sense to start from the beginning, she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"May I have my phone back, please?"

Forgetting that he was supposed to be asleep, Booth flinched when her voice rang out from practically right over him. Opening his eyes quickly, this time he almost jumped right out of the chair when he found her leaning over him, hand extended, ostensibly for him to hand her the phone. Trying to control his suddenly racing heartbeat, he tried to figure out what was going on. "What? Why?"

She actually made a reach with her hand as though she were going to reach right into his jeans pocket and take it for herself. He panicked at the idea of the contact, turning himself sideways in the seat and blocking her with his shoulder so he didn't have to grab her wrist to stop her. "What are you _doing_?" His heart was threatening to break through his rib cage and jump out of his chest. If this was how she felt when she woke up to find him standing over her or reaching for her, he could now sympathize even more. He felt like bolting out the door, and he hadn't even really been asleep.

She was regarding him coolly, though she had taken the smallest step back after he stopped her reach. "You weren't asleep. I need my phone. I'm attempting to put my recollections in order, in answer to your question about my last clear memory. I believe the pictures will help."

Seeing right through her aloof facade, Booth heaved a weary sigh. At least this was a Bones he recognized: jaw set and determined, hellbent on remaining calm and detached at the absolute worst possible times for it, and dragging him along for the ride to pick up the pieces. Only this time, he couldn't help wondering who was going to pick up the pieces for _him,_ whether he went along with this or not. He sighed again, unwilling to let her do this to herself. Leave it to Bones to have now made _two_ requests of him that he couldn't possibly fulfill.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Bones. How can that possibly help?" His tone was gentle, placating.

It pissed her off immediately.

She crossed her arms across her chest, and he could tell she did not intend to let this go. Why did she have to try regaining some of her control in the _worst_ possible way?

"How can pretending to be asleep possibly help?" she shot back. "I attempted conversation on the topic, Booth. You seem unwilling to help me, so I'll do it myself."

Anger shot through him suddenly, the result of intense frustration and helplessness, and he surged to his feet without thinking about it. She had been standing practically on top of him, and when he stood he found their roles reversed: he was now standing practically on top of _her_ , looking down at her from way too damn close. "Unwilling to _help_ you?"

He was practically hissing the words through his teeth. "What do you want me to say? Do you want to hear every last goddamn detail of what I had to do to help you? Of what it did to me to do that to you? Is that what it will take?" Now that it was all coming out, he couldn't stop himself, leaning even closer. "It's burned into my mind _forever,_ Bones. Do you have any idea _..."_

His words were trailing off even before he noticed that she was slowly backing away, her eyes wide, and he felt like a monster. "Bones..."

She was two steps from him when she stumbled, her knee buckling, and he shot forward to catch her with an arm around her waist, the other catching under her arm. He set her back on her feet, letting go to back off and get away from her, apologies already forming on his lips.

She almost knocked the breath out of him - literally and figuratively - when her arms grabbed him around the waist and she held on with all of her might, burying her head in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." It was whispered so low that he barely heard it, but that tiny exclamation almost caused his own knees to buckle.

 _'God, Bones.'_ He felt like his heart had actually burst. Slowly, tentatively, his own arms wrapped lightly around her, only tightening when she burrowed closer against him and he felt the first sob wrack her frame. "No, I'm sorry. God. I'm so, so sorry."

He held onto her as the first bout of tears finally came, anchoring her against himself and whispering "I'm sorry" into her hair over and over.

ooo … ooo … ooo

They stayed in that position for quite some time, neither wanting to let go or move for fear of re-erecting the huge barrier that they both could still sense between them. Brennan's sobs had long since subsided, and Booth could feel how weak she was becoming from her prolonged time of standing in his arms. As time had passed, his arms had grown tighter and tighter, supporting more and more of her weight against him, but he could feel that she was beginning to tremble in exhaustion. Although he would have been perfectly content to support her indefinitely, she needed to sit down and he knew it.

But when he reluctantly began to release her, she only clutched him more tightly, one of her hands bunching up his t-shirt in her small fist as a muffled, dismayed cry sounded out against his shoulder. He retightened his arms immediately, his voice gentle when he spoke. "Okay - okay. Shh, Bones. I won't let go." One of his hands found its way up to the back of her head, absently stroking her hair as he allowed his other arm around her waist to fully support her. "I'm here. I've got you. I need to sit us down, though. Okay?"

She turned her head against his shoulder, facing his neck, and her voice sounded almost sleepy when she answered him. "Why?"

It had been so long since he smiled that it felt almost strange when his lips turned up in just the barest hint of one. Even standing trembling in his arms, no doubt she would argue it to the death if he implied that she was too weak to stand. "Because _I'm_ tired. I'm just going to sit us down on the ground, all right?"

When he received no response, he hesitated, the momentary smile fading. Sounding very unsure of himself, he pulled his head back just the slightest bit. "Bones? Is that okay?" His heartbeat was beginning to speed up as he became concerned that he had overstepped the boundaries. It was a frightening and disorienting sensation, not even being sure where the boundaries were but knowing that a mine field awaited him if he unwittingly crossed one. She still wasn't answering, and his mouth was beginning to go dry as his heart raced a little faster. "Talk to me, Bones. Please." On the 'please,' his voice threatened to crack in a way it hadn't done since he was a pimple-faced preteen. It was fitting, considering that was also the last time he had felt so awkward and unsure of his own movements.

By the time he finally felt her nod her assent against his chest, she had saved him from being a liar - now he really _did_ need to sit down as badly as she did. Shakily drawing a relieved breath, he supported her as he slowly sank them to the floor, resting his back against the seat and turning her so that she sat on her side in the open vee of his legs, leaning sideways against his chest. Her legs rested between both of his, but his were opened wide enough that they didn't touch hers. His arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders, and his head bent so that his forehead pressed against her temple.

His eyes closed as he breathed her in, a shudder running through him as it finally hit him just _how damn close_ he had come to losing her in that godforsaken hellhole. He was starting to tremble as badly as she was, his voice betraying his emotion when he asked her, almost as an afterthought, "You still okay, Bones?"

Her stillness and silence made his heart skip a beat again, because, _'Jeez, Bones,'_ he thought. She was starting to give him a complex and he just needed a damn answer. What was going on in that head of hers?

She exhaled a shaky breath, and he was already starting to release her and try to figure out the best way to get up quickly when she answered him in the last way he had expected.

"I know what the last thing I remember is, Booth. I shot a man - in the hallway. I remember. I killed him."

As his arms tensed around her, she paused while he cursed himself for ever asking her that stupid question in the first place - the one about the last thing she remembered. He had only been stalling to keep from having to answer her question about what _he_ had done. He should have known she would take it and run with it.

Had it occurred to him she would do _this_ , he would have manned up and given her the last detail, even if it meant she never spoke to him again. Hell, he would have drawn her a diagram if it would have prevented this. At least then he would be the one shouldering a heavy load of guilt instead of her. Much though he hated to kill, the thought of her having to do it and suffering for it was so much worse. He could only pray that she wouldn't delve deeper into her memory and remember the stabbing too. Not right now; not while she was so fragile. But that prayer was destined to go unanswered:

"I killed _two_ men."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Pam Nunan's gunshot to his chest hadn't hit him with as much force as Brennan's almost whispered words - and at least that had been one bullet he had been able to save her from. Reflexively, his arms and legs both closed a little more around her, his jaw clenching tightly.

As far as he was concerned, both of those men were _his_ responsibility, not hers. She had only been forced to deal with either of them because both had got the drop on _him_ : the man she stabbed had rushed her while he was letting his ass get kicked by the first guard at the door; and the man she shot had sneaked up on him from behind while he congratulated himself for taking out the ones in front of him. What kind of Ranger-trained sniper forgot to watch his own six, for Christ's sake? If he had been faster, stronger, better prepared, then she wouldn't be bearing this burden.

On top of that, the best he could come up with to comfort her was...

"No, Bones. Only one. And you did it to save me. I killed the other one." It sounded empty to his own ears - _'Oh, only one?'._ He could imagine how it must sound to her.

"No!" The ferocity in her outburst took him by surprise, and he felt her twisting in his arms. He let go immediately, hands moving outward to his sides to give her space as his gut twisted in fear that she was running from him again. He relaxed a little when he saw she was just turning her upper body to face him, her hands gripping his shoulders, but his relief only lasted until she spoke again. "Booth, I remember. I stabbed him in the chest, quite precisely. The injuries would have been fatal. It wasn't you. _I_ _killed him."_

His hands came to rest lightly on her upper arms, his willingness to touch her acting as a testament to just how badly he needed her to understand this point. "Yes, you stabbed him. But I broke his neck. He was still breathing at that point, Bones. It was _me_ that killed him. I would have killed both of them anyway, if you hadn't, okay? **_Trust_** _me. Please_."

The words hit her like a lightning bolt she never saw coming. At the moment that it happened, she wasn't even thinking about what had happened between her and Booth in that room. It seemed much more important to convince him that he had not murdered the man that she stabbed.

If she were to be perfectly rational, it would seem that that point shouldn't matter so much. She was aware of multiple men Booth had killed since the time he found her, and there were no doubt more she didn't know about.

Could it really be such an important distinction that this one man's blood was not on his hands? Perhaps it was the fact that she had watched him snap that man's neck, ending his life, with his bare hands. Or perhaps it was because she knew _why_ he had done it. Despite how much she knew it pained him to kill, it actually came as no surprise that he would kill for her if necessary to keep her safe. But he had killed that man willingly, barehanded, not to save her from physical danger but from the guilt of having done it herself. That fact had far reaching implications that, in the midst of their current situation, quite frankly overwhelmed her a little bit.

But now it all paled in comparison to the vivid memory his last words triggered…

 _'Look up! Cameras._ _ **Trust**_ _me, please. Won't hurt you.'_

She had wanted her memories back. Now she wasn't so sure.

The words shot back into her mind as clearly as she heard them originally. In a heartbeat, she was back in that room. She could feel the steel of the shackle around her ankle, tethering her to a ring in the floor like an animal. She could feel herself teetering unsteadily on high heels before her partner and best friend, wearing almost nothing and fighting the effects of drugs she hadn't wanted. Rather than holding her, _helping_ her, he was instead stalking and circling her, beginning to undress himself.

The moment the flashback began, Booth's arms - which had been her strength and support for almost the last hour as he held her together - were suddenly oppressive, stifling, _trapping_ her, causing every muscle in her body to tense.

ooo … ooo … ooo

He knew his mistake almost before the words were fully out of his mouth, even before he felt her go stiff as a board in his arms and saw her eyes go glassy. Forget stepping across an invisible boundary - his final three words had catapulted him over one and straight onto a land mine. He had managed to trigger a goddamn flashback.

 _'Look up! Cameras._ _ **Trust**_ _me, please. Won't hurt you.'_

His own words in the same tone came flooding back to him as well - " ** _Trust_** _me. Please." -_ making him relive it right along with her. The last time he had spoken that combination of three words to her, he had just grabbed her by the hair, slammed her against a wall, and put his mouth all over her throat against her will, able to literally _see_ the betrayal in her eyes as he kept her from escaping. For a moment after he spoke them, she _had_ relaxed and trusted him. Of course, her only reward for that had been for him to strip her of her robe, haul her across the room and force her onto a bed under him, terrifying her all over again.

Flashbacks were not an unfamiliar concept to him, in any way. Watching _her_ have one, on the other hand, was horrifyingly new, made even worse by the fact that he knew exactly what she was remembering.

His arms released her the very moment that he realized his mistake. Still so close to her as she sat between his legs, but unable to extricate himself from his place between her and the chair, he barely took a breath until he could see that the _realness_ of it had passed and she was once again at least semi-aware of her surroundings.

At that point, she had wasted no time in pulling away from him stiffly. He could see that she was trying to control her breathing as she scooted away from him and pushed to her feet, coming to rest in the other seat across from the one he leaned against. She clamped her eyes shut and bit her lip, gripping the armrests with white knuckles. He could see the effort she was making to get herself under control, even as a tear squeezed from beneath her lashes. He could only sit and wait for it to pass, hands clenched in fists and not daring to say another word.

She drew several deep, shaky breaths before opening her eyes and fixing them on him. He was making no effort to hide his pain, or the tears forming in his eyes. Somewhere along the way, she had learned to at least partially read Booth in a way she normally couldn't do with other people. She felt very sure that the predominant emotion on his face was sadness.

Suddenly, fragments of his words from earlier, just before she had thrown herself into his arms, flooded back into her mind:

 _'...what I had to do to you...what it_ _ **did**_ _to me to do that to you...burned into my mind_ _ **forever**_ _, Bones...do you have any_ _ **idea**_ _..."_

It was enough to give her assurance of two important facts: whatever Booth had done and why, he was struggling with it too; and no matter how illogically her body was reacting to him right now, he was hurting in a way she had never seen from him before.

That last fact only added to her uncertainty. He was the one who was supposed to know what to do in this type of situation, not her. Feeling the need to do _something_ to reassure him, she remembered what she had learned early in their partnership about the effect of a simple touch. But the thought of approaching him physically almost sent a shudder through her. Rational or not, that fear was a new impulse, one she did not seem to be capable of overcoming at that exact moment.

If she couldn't touch him, she could still attempt communication. Never questioning that the tears she saw in his eyes were directly related to her reaction to him, she tentatively spoke the only words that she thought might reassure him. "I'm fine, Booth. I'm okay."

He could only stare sadly at her when faced with such an obviously untrue statement, spoken in a voice that was thick with unshed tears and unspoken warning not to approach. He silently nodded as he pressed his lips together and tried not to cry, noticing that one of her hands had come up and was absently rubbing at her neck, just below her ear. Remembering all too painfully well where his mouth had been when he had first spoken the three words that had triggered her flashback, he didn't have to wonder about the significance of that action.

Not even daring to move enough to pick himself up off the floor, thinking it best to let her remain above his level, he could only rest his head back against the seat and wonder at the cruel irony of it. His simple plea for her trust had been exactly what destroyed it again so quickly.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Usually, silences between the two of them were not so very awkward. Though silence was not the norm between them - mostly because they spent most of their time bickering and bantering back and forth - when silence did come it was most often comfortable, companionable. This silence was anything but that, at least for Brennan. Sitting in the chair looking down at Booth, she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with this particular silence. Booth was not even looking at her, despite the fact that she couldn't stop glancing at him every few seconds as she twisted and fidgeted in her chair. Whether or not she wanted to be physically close to him at that moment, the fact that he seemed to be ignoring her was even worse. She needed him to talk to her, to give her something other than her disjointed memories upon which to focus her mind's energies.

The silence only grew thicker as more time passed. After almost an hour, Brennan eventually realized that if anything was to be said, she was going to have to be the one to say it. Booth had barely moved since she left his arms so abruptly, and he certainly hadn't spoken. It did not appear that he had any intention of doing so, either.

Even after she came to the conclusion that she would have to be the one to initiate conversation, trying to decide what to say to him was a new challenge. Their entire dynamic seemed to have shifted, and the normal topics of conversation seemed somehow inappropriate. She was not good at this under the best circumstances.

More minutes passed by before she decided on something that seemed harmless enough. "You should move, Booth."

For the first time since she had last spoken, his eyes were suddenly back on her. She could see how tense he instantly became, holding even more still than he had for the last hour.

ooo … ooo … ooo

She was going to be the death of him. After barely moving for almost an hour of sitting in one spot on the floor, tired muscles screaming at him, he had not known what he expected the next words out of her mouth to be if she spoke to him again at all. He had been waiting, afraid to move or speak for fear of triggering another flashback, hoping that her next words or actions would give him some idea of how to proceed. He was in completely uncharted territory, relying on her to save or destroy him.

But now that she had finally spoken, he had less idea than ever of what to do. He should move? What did that mean? Was he still too close to her? She was the one who chose to sit in the chair only a few feet from him. Did she now want him to move farther away from her? Move to the other side of the plane? Move right out the door? Move out of D.C.? Her tone gave absolutely nothing away. The thick, tear-filled voice was gone, and she may as well have been telling him it was a bright sunny day outside for all that her voice revealed. He felt like he was still standing right in the middle of a mine field. If he assumed she meant for him to move away from her, he was still going to have to get up to do so. What if that wasn't what she had meant and _that_ scared her?

Completely frozen, he finally decided to risk speaking again, for the first time since his voice had messed everything up so badly. "Move where?" His voice was strained and he needed to clear his throat, but he didn't even want to risk that.

"The seat, perhaps? Remaining on the floor in your current position is likely to aggravate your back condition."

Some of the tension drained out of him, but not much. Suddenly, he felt less like he was standing in a mine field and more like he was in the twilight zone. She was worried about his back? An hour ago she was wrenching herself away from him and retreating so that he couldn't attack her again.

Releasing the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding, his exhalation turned into a heavy sigh. "I'm fine, Bones. I'm okay."

He hadn't intended his words to be a repeat of what she had said to him right after her flashback, and he certainly hadn't intended for them to come out with a sarcastic air about them, as though he were throwing them back in her face. Judging by her expression, however, that was exactly how it had come out. Trying to force a small smile and failing miserably, he settled for softening his tone somewhat and trying again. "I'll be fine."

It was only then he noticed that she seemed...nervous. Not scared of him at the moment, just uncertain. She was biting her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth, and this time when she spoke he finally picked up on it: she was waiting for something from him just as much as he was waiting for something from her. This strange conversation had nothing to do with his back.

"The seat would certainly be more comfortable than the floor. I noticed earlier that it has excellent built-in lumbar support."

This time he just nodded, deciding to play along. If she wanted him in the chair, he'd get in the chair. "Okay." Careful not to watch her as he did so, regardless of how badly he wanted to keep his eyes on her and gauge her reactions, he steadily pushed himself up and into the seat, taking great pains not to move toward her in any way. He had no idea where this was going, but he could sense that playing along was the right decision. "You were right, Bones. Much more comfortable." Again, he tried to plaster a small smile across his face, and again it was a pitiful attempt. "Any other suggestions?" His attempt at humor fell completely flat.

She was still watching him closely, chewing on her lip, and he was beginning to feel like a bug under one of Hodgins' microscopes. "No, that's all."

Frustrated, he couldn't get a good read on her as he continued to watch her watch him. What exactly was she looking for? He could not help but feel that he was missing something important.

A brief pause, one more tug on her lip, and then she surprised him. It would have seemed only a small admission from anyone else, but knowing her as he did, her next words filled him with more hope than anything had up to that point - even more than when she had clung to him earlier, which he could explain away as her needing security.

"Actually, Booth, I wanted to talk to you. I was simply unsure what to say."

Had it not been for the last time she ran from him, he probably would have hugged her. The fact that she had dropped all pretense and admitted that to him was, in his eyes, huge. It was practically an admission that, despite what they were going through, she still desired a connection with him. For Bones, it was right up there on the level of saying she needed him. This time, the small smile that crossed his face was a real one, even if tinged with sadness. "You never need an excuse to talk to me, Bones. It's okay."

Her eyes had finally dropped from his face, and he risked leaning forward a little to try to catch them again. "Hey..."

He waited until she met his gaze again before continuing. "You can still say anything to me anytime, Bones. That hasn't changed. Don't doubt that, okay?" It was his turn to pause, hesitating before verbalizing his next thought - one that he suddenly felt very strongly that she needed to hear. He definitely needed to say it. "I'll be here if and when you need me. I'm not going anywhere."

It was a decision he had made at some point since Naji's departure, without even realizing it. He didn't know at exactly what point it had happened, but he now knew that any plans to leave D.C. and get away from her were a distant memory. He might have to do it from arms-length, and it might hurt worse than anything he had ever been through, but he was going to be by her side for her recovery. Nothing was going to change that - not after holding her in his arms again and seeing that she still needed him, if only to talk to her.

Even so, he hoped that his own admission of that fact was not too much too soon.

It seemed, however, that he had made the right decision. She only nodded in response, but she did so with tear-filled blue eyes and a tiny smile that had him aching all over with the need to go to her.

TO BE CONTINUED


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The silence that followed his promise was beginning to become uncomfortable to Booth. After her initial favorable reaction, he could almost _see_ the wheels begin to turn in her head. She was _thinking_ , and there was no possible way that could be good for him. But now he was the one who couldn't think of anything to say to stop it. And before he could…

"I do want my phone back now."

 _'Oh crap,'_ he thought. This again. He knew that tone of voice. It was her oh-so-rational _'No, as a matter of fact I_ _ **don't**_ _have any emotion about anything but thank you for asking_ ' voice. It had been quite some time in their partnership since she had directed that particular voice at him, and he hated it every bit as much as he remembered. Its appearance confirmed his suspicion that he probably didn't want to know what had been going through her head, and that it probably meant she was preparing to shut him out, hardcore.

But all frustration aside, he still didn't want her looking at those cell phone pictures again. For that matter, he didn't want _him_ looking at those pictures again. Just the thought of them still made his blood boil, in a way that he wasn't entirely sure he could conceal from her. Her seeing the unadulterated rage he still felt toward her abductor would not be particularly reassuring to her, he was pretty certain. "Bones, I really don't think..."

"I've already seen them once, Booth. I won't look at them right now if it makes you uncomfortable. I just want my phone back." Her voice had softened somewhat, making him think he might have misread her. It was hardly surprising that she wanted to take back some control, and it wasn't a completely unreasonable request. Except for one thing...

Uneasily, he shifted in his seat. The phone was deep in the pocket of his somewhat tight jeans, and he wouldn't be able to get to it without standing up. Still jumpy from the last time he had frightened her, standing up and towering over her was the _last_ thing he wanted to do right then, even from a few feet away. With his own lecture to her about being able to say anything to each other ringing in his ears, he decided to just go the honesty route.

"I'm going to have to stand up to get to it. Is that okay?"

Oddly, a flash of anger passed across her face. "Yes, Booth, it's fine. Just give me the phone."

Taken aback by her suddenly testy tone and having no clue what he had done to cause it, he only became more hesitant. "Bones? You're sure?"

This time there was no mistaking the anger in her tone. "Stop doing that. You don't need to do that, Booth. I'm fine now."

Oh, she was fine now - just like that. So _that_ was what she had been sitting there thinking about. A sick feeling began to spread through him as he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself for a moment against the frustration that was building in him. He had to clamp down hard on his first impulse, which was to tell her that she had to give him one or the other: she was either going to have to stop clinging to him one moment and running the next, or she was going to have to cut him some slack about double-checking her boundaries so that he didn't inadvertently cross one. She couldn't possibly understand what she was doing to him every time she tensed away from him or let fear of him show on her face, but he needed to do everything he could to prevent it. It was like being stabbed through the heart, every single time.

And apparently she had now decided to just push everything beneath the surface and ignore it, proclaiming that she was 'fine now.' It wouldn't work, and he knew it. If she tried it, it would eventually come crashing down on both of them. He desperately wanted to tell her that, but he had already snapped at her once today, and he still felt bad enough about that.

Instead, he just clenched his jaw and gave a sharp nod. "Fine. It won't happen again. Here you go." Standing quickly before he could think better of it, he took the phone from his pocket, stepped recklessly toward her and extended his hand in her general direction. This time, he pointedly kept his eyes right on her, almost grimly satisfied when she uneasily dropped her eyes from his gaze. She had to lean slightly toward him to reach the phone, and it didn't escape his notice that she was extra careful not to brush his hand as she did so. He backed up and sat down immediately. He had already proved his point - he didn't want to push her any farther. Yeah, she was 'fine', all right. Just perfect.

As he sat, he passed a weary hand over his face, fighting a fresh wave of anger. Though he knew that she wouldn't do so - not about something like this - it almost felt as though she were pushing him on purpose. Her eyes were now carefully trained on the phone in her hand, avoiding his gaze. He knew she hadn't turned it on - he had been watching, and he wasn't above snatching it back out of her hand if she tried to look at those damned pictures.

And then she threw him another curveball. Slowly, she pulled her feet up beneath her to sit cross legged in the seat. Though she never took her eyes off the phone, he could see as she did so that the anger had melted off of her face. It had been replaced by a look so vulnerable that it immediately erased any frustration he felt toward her.

"You're angry." She didn't phrase it as a question, but he could hear the hesitancy in her voice and knew she was asking.

Trying to keep up with her was becoming more difficult with each passing moment, but he was still powerless to do anything but hang on for dear life and try to reassure her. After a long sigh, he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his widespread knees and his hands clasped between them. There was no point in lying to her; plus, he knew that she trusted him and relied on him at least a little bit when it came to deciphering emotions. Maybe he could get through to her. "Yeah, Bones, I am angry. But not at you. I'm angry about what was done to you. I'm angry about what was done to _us._ I mean, _look_ at us. _"_

She was still sitting the same way, but her wide eyes flicked to him briefly before returning to stare at the blank display on the phone. That brief glance told him that she knew _exactly_ what he meant, and that he had caught her slightly off guard by actually making direct reference to the huge, unmentioned wall between them. In truth, talking about any of what happened was the last thing he wanted to do right then - or ever, for that matter.

But ignoring the proverbial elephant in the middle of the room was at least part of the reason he was in this mess; if he had been honest with her about his feelings a long time ago, maybe this would have all turned out so differently. Maybe she would have been safe in his arms - and his bed - instead of in Albania to begin with, or at least he would have been able to insist on having some say in the details of her security: like, for example, him being there with her.

He had missed his chance on that one. He certainly wasn't going to make the same mistake on this particular topic. They were going to have to acknowledge it eventually, and if she was preparing to compartmentalize and shut him out it might be his only chance. Drawing a deep breath, he knew he had to just bite the bullet and have the single most honest conversation he had ever had with her. Even if he induced another flashback, it would be preferable to her internalizing everything and pretending _nothing_ had happened. But that didn't mean he wasn't scared to death.

"I just...Bones, you can't just rationalize away everything that happened to you. You're going to have to talk about this. At some point, _we're_ going to have to talk about certain parts of this, as uncomfortable as it may be. I know how strong you are, but there's no way you or anybody else could be fine after what you've been through. Please…you don't have to talk to me _,_ and it doesn't have to be right now. But I need to know you're going to talk to somebody - Angela, Sweets, _somebody_."

She still sat staring at the blank display on the turned-off phone, but he could see the increase in her breathing and knew he had her attention. He had come this far - he may as well go all the way. Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, he gave her permission to destroy him completely. "And I don't want you to feel like you have to protect me. Whoever you decide to talk to, you don't have to hold anything back for my sake. You need to deal with _everything_ that happened. All I ask is that, for right now, please understand why I have to be extra careful around you. I just need to know I'm not going to make things worse. This is hard on me too. Okay?"

Finally - _finally_ \- he could see that he had gotten through. Watery blue eyes met his for a long moment before returning to glance at the phone again.

Some time passed before she spoke. Even then, she opened her mouth to begin speaking several times before any words ever came out. Her eyes were still trained on the blank phone display that she was tracing with one finger. "That was one of my favorite shirts."

The way she was touching the phone left no question in his mind that she was seeing the pictures again in her mind. That meant she must be talking about the shirt she wore in those pictures - the shirt she had left D.C. wearing. It should have seemed odd that after all she had been through, the first thing she would choose to talk about was a shirt; but then, he remembered another frightening scenario in Louisiana where she had been concerned about an earring. What actually concerned him more than her choice of topic was the fear that he had pressured her into something she wasn't ready for. "Bones, I didn't mean you had to talk about it right _now_ , or even to me."

Her eyes lifted and lingered on his, finally, and her gaze was steady even if her voice was not. "They threw all of my clothes in a trash can."

Booth's eyes slipped shut for a moment, knowing that was his answer. She was going to talk right then, and it was going to be to him. That fact should have been an encouragement, but it was having the opposite effect - it terrified him. He had been so worried about whether or not she was ready to talk about what happened between them, he had not even considered whether or not he was ready to hear the parts he didn't know about. And he was quickly finding out that he wasn't.

A cold dread rushed into him, and he immediately knew he was going to ask the one question that consumed him the moment she made that last statement. It wasn't important at this point - he _shouldn't_ ask - but he had to know.

"They?"

If she heard him, she gave no indication of it. "I was pretending to be drugged, so I couldn't react, but it affected me quite strongly. It's one of the parts I remember most clearly. I know that must sound ridiculous."

He was shaking his head vehemently at that point, his own question momentarily forgotten in light of just how much he needed her to know that he understood - to know that her feelings were validated. "No. It doesn't sound ridiculous at all. They were trying to take away your identity. That's what you _do,_ Bones, is give people back their identities. When they threw away your clothes like they were garbage, it's like they were taking away your identity - what made you _you_. It's not ridiculous; not at all. I get it."

She was nodding at him gratefully, and he knew that he should let it go - that he should shut his mouth and let her keep talking for as long as she wanted. But the question of who exactly stripped her and how she ended up in the lingerie he had seen was going to eat at him until he got an answer. He could already feel the anger welling back up in him, barely restrained as his mind raced with the possible answers. Despite the fact that he needed to be focusing on his roles as listener, friend and protector, he was still the man that was completely in love with her whether she knew it or not; as such, that question was first and foremost on his mind.

"Who was 'they'? How did it happen?"

Booth forced himself to stop at two questions, instead of firing off all of the other ones that sprang to mind, such as 'how many of them were there' and 'did any of the bastards touch you.'

Her eyes took on a faraway look as she answered, almost as though she were saying one thing and thinking about something else. "There were women working there, but I believe they were under duress. They seemed frightened of the men that brought me to them. I remember being hosed down and having my hair washed."

She was still speaking, but he could see that she was reaching deep into her memory to extract as many details as possible, her eyes now closed. His initial overpowering relief at hearing that it was women who had done the stripping of her was quickly giving way to a nameless dread as he watched her continue to dredge her memory. "I remember they did something to my hair and applied cosmetics."

Suddenly her eyes popped open, a stricken look on her face, and that was when he knew - he _knew_ \- that he should have swallowed his own selfish worries and just left her alone instead of pushing her. "That was when they made me put on the..."

She trailed off, her head going down to look at the clothes she wore as though she had just noticed them, and Booth wanted to die right there.

"How did I get into these clothes?" She sounded horrified.

He couldn't move. His mouth was completely dry as he answered, his voice sounding hollow and expressionless. He knew now what was coming. There was no way to avoid it. "You were unconscious when we got to the airport. I put those on you so we could get you to the plane from the van."

"Did you..." She didn't finish her question, because she was already pulling the neck of the sweatshirt and t-shirt outward away from her chest to look down and see for herself what he already knew was still there. She blanched at what she saw, even as she repeated the process and looked down the waistband of the sweatpants. Her eyes fixed on him for one more awful second before she pushed out of the chair and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Booth let his head drop down for a moment before walking to the bathroom door and pressing his forehead against the outside of it, needing to be close by but knowing there was nothing he could do to help her. He had hoped she would never again see the 'clothes' her captors had forced her to wear; but now, thanks to his line of questioning, she was dealing with it alone on the other side of the door from him. He heard when the second round of tears began, but this time he knew that holding her was completely out of the question. The door was shut between them, in more ways than one.

ooo … ooo … ooo

The bathroom door remained closed for quite some time, long enough for Booth to become increasingly concerned about what he should do. Though it was obvious that she tried to muffle it, he could hear Brennan crying for what seemed like forever to him. Each sob tore at him, hurting him all the more because he knew he could neither hold her nor comfort her. When the tears finally subsided, however, the silence was even worse. His concern continued to grow until finally he could take it no more.

"Bones?" Gently, he rapped on the door. Only more silence met him, causing him enough concern that he was starting to consider forcing the door. Though he was understandably very hesitant to do so, real worry was beginning to pierce him. He was gripped with the fear that she could have passed out - or worse, done something to harm herself. He didn't really think that was a possibility, of course. But in the absence of being able to see her his mind was running wild; The more he thought about it, the more he needed her to open that door.

He had spent years talking to her in thinly veiled riddles and only vaguely hinting at the true depth of his feelings: he was the king, after all, of 'everything happens eventually' and 'you just have to be open enough to see it'. But her reactions to his blatantly honest statements since they boarded the plane were beginning to show him that she was far more receptive to complete honesty from him than he would have given her credit for. He had only himself to blame for discovering that too late when it came to being able to confess his feelings for her, but he could certainly still utilize that knowledge in this situation. He wasn't going to beat around the bush. She was scaring him, and that was exactly what he was going to tell her.

He would gladly narrate his entire stream of consciousness for her if it would just get her to open the damn door.

"Bones! C'mon, you're scaring me. Answer me." Tentatively, he tried the door handle to discover that it was locked, so he rapped his knuckles against the door a little more insistently this time.

She didn't answer, but he had to give her one more chance. If he burst through that door and found her unclothed, he would just be digging himself into an even deeper hole. "Temperance, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in. I have to know you're okay _. Please_ answer." The last two words were muttered under his breath, a near-silent plea meant more for his own benefit than for hers. He really, really did not want to have to do this. Whether she liked it when he broke down doors or not, there was very little chance she would appreciate it on a door she had intentionally shut between them.

When she still didn't respond and he heard no movement, he put his shoulder to the door and forced it. One more thing to owe Hodgins for - a busted door on his private jet.

He was lucky the door hadn't hit her. She was sitting on the ground, just outside the door's reach as it swung back, and she was leaning against the wall that was across from the toilet. To his immense relief, she was fully clothed in his t-shirt and sweatpants, though she no longer wore his sweatshirt. Her feet were flat on the floor with her knees up and her arms wrapped around them. His sweatshirt was bunched into a ball on top of her knees, pillowing her bent-forward head. Clearly, that was why her sobs had sounded so muffled. She must have been crying into his sweatshirt. After barreling far enough in to see the unbelievably reassuring rise and fall of her chest that told him she was still breathing, he hit his brakes hard. He stood completely still a couple steps from her, a little unsure what to do next.

From that spot, he glanced into the trashcan and was a little surprised not to see the lingerie he had assumed she must have removed. Instead, all he saw was the suit that he had discarded and stuffed into the trashcan earlier. Bending down, he lifted it up a little and saw what he had been looking for, in the very bottom beneath his own unwanted clothes. She had removed the lingerie after all - it appeared that she had also ripped the sheer fabric into shreds before lifting his discarded suit up and hiding the ruined scraps of cloth beneath it. Good for her. He had been tempted to do the same with his suit, and he rather wished he had. He needed an outlet for the anger, hurt and fear that still coursed through him.

He stood awkwardly, painfully aware that he was towering over her and blocking her only path of escape. He was hyper aware at this point of how every move he made might look to her, to the point of becoming paranoid. Carefully, he knelt down beside the toilet, putting himself across from and slightly diagonal to her, leaving a small path through which she could get past him and out the door if she panicked on him. His hands itched to reach out and touch her shoulder, but he restrained himself. "Hey! Bones, are you with me?"

She nodded her head, though she never lifted her head from the sweatshirt so he could see her face. Mild irritation was mixed with the relief that flooded him, mostly due to the fact that he was still half shaking at the thought of what might have happened if he had burst in and she _hadn't_ been clothed. If she had heard him all along, it was one hell of a position she had just put him into and he wanted to know why. "Why didn't you answer me?"

Her voice was muffled with her face pressed into the soft cloth, but he understood her clearly anyway. "I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to talk about it anymore right now, Booth."

A frustrated huff escaped his lips before he could stop it. "Jeez, Bones. I was just trying to find out if you were all right, not make you talk to me. You can't just ignore me and expect me to go away. Didn't you hear me telling you I was coming in?" He sounded freaked out and panicky even to his own ears. With conscious effort, he calmed himself down and tried to refocus on the present crisis instead of the five-seconds-past crisis. "Why are you on the ground? Are you okay?"

She didn't answer, letting her earlier statement stand as explanation that she just didn't want to talk to him right then. His frustration only grew. "Look, we don't have to talk about anything else for the rest of this flight, but if you're sick or hurt I need to know about it."

This time, he could barely make out what she was saying, but the words instantly caused concern to replace his irritation.

"I was experiencing disequilibrium along with near syncope."

This time he did lean forward and place a hand on her shoulder. "English, Bones, and where I can hear you. All I'm getting is a lot of big words that don't tell me if I need to have the pilot land right now so I can get you to a hospital."

She lifted her head up and leaned it back against the wall, but still didn't look at him. Her eyes were squeezed shut, so he could study her face as closely as he liked. He had to resist the temptation to trace his fingers down the tear streaks on her cheeks.

"That _was_ English, and that would be inadvisable, Booth. We're almost certainly over the ocean by now. I was suffering from a lack of stability and orientation, and it seemed likely that loss of consciousness was imminent so I sat down. I'm fine now."

After the lightest of squeezes, his hand released her shoulder. She was sounding like herself again, and he welcomed it. His smile was evident in his voice, conveying his relief and affection. "You were dizzy and thought you were going to faint. Why didn't you just say so?"

If he didn't know better, he would have thought he saw the barest trace of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "I did." Her eyes opened then, and she regarded him calmly.

Here, in these scattered moments like this, when she wasn't running from him or acting scared, the sense of normalcy was almost overwhelming. It was causing him to desperately want to touch her - not in any sexual way, but just to have a connection with her. Currently, for example, he was almost obsessed with the idea of dropping a kiss on top of her head, just for being _her_ for a wonderful moment. He didn't, instead settling for smiling at her and talking to her again.

"It's understandable. After what your body's been through, running in here the way you did probably just wiped out your reserves. You need to get some more rest. We're still several hours from D.C., so why don't you try to sleep some more before we get there?"

She nodded agreeably, beginning to get up, and he waited for her to rise first before he followed suit. Apparently, she was still feeling slightly dizzy, and she had to make a grab for the wall to keep herself upright. Booth felt a slight pang at the fact that she could just as easily have reached out to _him_ and had chosen not to, but that was alleviated somewhat by the fact that she didn't flinch when he automatically put a supporting hand on her back.

"More lisdequibrium?" The ridiculous mispronunciation was intentional - an effort to put her at ease with his proximity - and he suspected that she knew he had done it on purpose, even if she might not guess his reason.

"Disequilibrium. Yes, it would appear that I rose too abruptly."

He cleared his throat, wondering if there were _any_ way to phrase his next question that wouldn't sound wrong, at least to him. "C'mon, I'll help you. Where do you want to go - the seat or the bed?"

She appeared to be slightly indecisive about that for a moment before hesitantly - almost shyly - responding. "I think it would be best for me to lie down."

He had actually hoped she would prefer to sleep in one of the reclining seats. Helping her to the bed was not an idea that he relished at that point. But it was a given that he was going to have to help her to either place she chose - she had used up what little strength she had in reserve and her tears had only served to further exhaust her. He could see her trembling.

Gently, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, surprised when she leaned into him and wrapped her own arm around his waist.

A memory surfaced in his mind as he led her - a memory of another time that he had needed to hold her up on wobbly legs, though under far better circumstances. That time it had been him who was injured instead of her, which in his way of thinking _automatically_ equaled better circumstances, even if it hadn't been for the opportunity to ice skate with her. The memory was so strong that he could almost smell the ice rink, feel her hand gripping his like a lifeline, hear his own voice promising he'd never make her fall.

The memory felt hollow after what she had gone through. He hadn't just let her fall; in many ways, he had been the one to push.

But as she sometimes did on extremely rare occasions - one of the many reasons he loved her - she chose right then to say the perfect thing: exactly what he needed to hear to stop his self-flagellation in its tracks. With Bones, there were a few things to take into consideration even in such a moment: one, it didn't happen very often; two, it usually required him to be adept at reading between the lines and sometimes even reading her mind; and three, there was always the high likelihood that she might turn right around and flay him with the _next_ words out of her mouth. But to his everlasting gratitude, whenever she _did_ manage to say the perfect thing it was almost always directed at him and never failed to take his breath away. If he was the one exception to her inability to interact with people, he would accept it as a gift from God. Gratefully.

"Do you remember ice skating?" she asked him suddenly.

Stunned, he quickly turned to look at her but he couldn't see her face…just the top of her head beneath his arm. "I was just thinking about that."

Her arm tightened almost imperceptibly around his middle. To anybody else, her following statement would seem like an abrupt topic change, but he had some idea of how her mind worked. "I knew you would find me, Booth. I still don't remember everything. But I do know that I never forgot that."

Completely speechless, he could only let her go as she released him, noticing that they were only a couple of steps from the bed. She walked the final shaky steps on her own before pulling back the covers and crawling into bed to rest, seemingly oblivious to the effect she had just had on the man watching her - as usual.

He had wondered if the fleeting moments of normalcy and emotional intimacy that they had been able to salvage in the midst of this experience meant the same to her as they did to him. She had just given him his answer, in dramatic fashion that gave her an even tighter grip on his heart.

"That was a good day, Bones," he told her softly. "Ice skating, I mean."

She was speaking again, a yawn threatening to break through, and he could only stand and listen.

"I still maintain that I was correct in my conclusions about you."

Her rolling over to go to sleep signified the end of the conversation, but he was still planted firmly where he stood. She had said a few things to him that day: that he was the only FBI agent she wanted to work with; that he was made of good stuff; and, most importantly, that she agreed with the assessment of 'Lucky Luciano,' as she had called him. And Lucky Luc had told him he was not like his father. There was no possible way she could have known how badly he needed to be reminded of that, and yet she had said it. He could only wonder at why, as he felt the last vestiges of his earlier nightmare about himself-as-his-father release their hold on him. Leave it to Bones to chase _his_ demons away even while hers were still fierce on their tail.

Backing up but unable to take his eyes off of her, he turned a seat to face her and sank into it. He was almost taken aback by the fierce surge of protectiveness that welled up in him as he sat back to watch over her as she slept through the final hours to D.C.

ooo … ooo … ooo

At the Jeffersonian, Jack Hodgins looked up just in time to see a dark-haired whirlwind storm into his workspace - a very, very worked up whirlwind.

"Jack! You've got to find that plane." After spending almost an hour unsuccessfully trying to reach Booth on his phone or via the computer link, Angela Montenegro had spent many more sleepless and very agitated hours at home trying to figure out exactly what Booth meant when he said he wasn't going to be with Brennan when she arrived. Finally, only a few hours before the time she was supposed to be at the airport, she had given up on trying to explain the unexplainable and was ready to take action.

"Whoa...Angela - okay, just calm down and tell me what's going on." Hodgins' voice was calm, his gaze steady as he tried to get his former fiancée to slow down and explain.

"What's going on is that Brennan is up there all by herself. Booth _left_ her. I need to be on that plane the minute it lands. Can you make that happen?" Never had she been more serious. Hodgins could see that, but he wasn't ready to hop on the bandwagon just yet.

"That...really doesn't sound like Booth. Are you sure?" He had seen Booth's devotion to his coworker on more than one occasion, and had been a firsthand witness to Booth's dogged determination to save her from Kenton. He had also witnessed his tenderness to her afterward, causing him to feel almost like a voyeur watching the two who were oblivious to the presence of anyone else in the room. And that had been years ago, before they had developed into...into whatever they were now. He couldn't just believe that Booth would abandon her at this point, for any reason.

Angela's tone was impatient - she had already been through a similar thought process, and now she needed answers instead of more questions. "Yes, Jack, I'm sure. He told me himself, right before he hung up on me and turned his phone off. I thought the same thing you did, but he _told_ _me himself_. I've just tried Cam, and she can't get him either. Can you get me on that plane the minute it lands?"

Her eyes were pleading with him, and he could see how much it meant to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he got her to focus on his eyes. "Of course I can. It's my plane, my rules. My pilots _always_ file flight plans whether it's required or not. Plus, I know where it will land and I can probably even get in touch with the pilot. Did Booth say when they were going to land?"

"He told me to be there at 7:00, and that he wouldn't be with her. God, did he expect her to just wander off the plane all by herself and go looking for me after what she's been through? What is going on?" She was still agitated, and Hodgins allowed his thumbs to caress her upper arms soothingly where he still held her shoulders.

"I don't know. But we're going to find out. I'm going with you. We'll be there before 7:00, and when the plane lands we'll be waiting. I'll get you on there, Angela, and we'll deal with the rest when it comes. Okay?"

Her eyes closed in relief. "Thank you, Jack. I mean it - thank you."

Pulling away and turning to go, she almost made it through the door before she turned back to face him. "I just don't believe he would _leave_ her like that."

Hodgins could only shrug. He was having the same thoughts himself, but he didn't want to voice them. "Dr. B. would tell you not to jump to conclusions. If Booth left her, I'm sure he had good reason, and I'm sure she's not alone. Booth's not going to go halfway around the world to save her and then abandon her. If he's really not there, then Zack's Hawaiian 'friend' is probably with her."

Angela nodded nervously, but still did not seem very reassured. "Maybe. We'll see. Pick me up at 5:30."

And with that she was gone, leaving Jack to his own uneasy thoughts as he wondered for himself what could possibly make Booth leave Brennan's side.

ooo … ooo … ooo

The final hours of the flight passed uneventfully. Though Booth mostly just watched his sleeping partner, he was able to grab a couple hours sleep himself. He was quickly finding that he was much happier awake than asleep, despite his exhaustion. At least awake he could watch Brennan sleep peacefully, comforted by her very presence and the fact that she was, thank God, alive. His sleep was a disjointed series of dreams and images that haunted and tortured him - images of his father, missions he carried out as a sniper, his torture overseas, the worst moments of his FBI career. All of them combined to make sleep more of a torment than a respite.

Each time his father's face appeared in his dreams, he would awake with a start, feeling the need to look in a mirror and be sure his own face stared back at him. He didn't give in to it, instead remaining in his seat and comforting himself with the words his partner had spoken before she had gone to sleep. Sure, she had only thought of it because she had brought up their ice skating together; and it was more likely that she had been referring to her comment that he was made of good stuff rather than that she was making any direct reference to him not being like his father. But it was an indirect reference, nonetheless, and quite comforting to let her drive his demons away. Her opinion of him, aside from Parker's, was the one that mattered most.

Mercifully, none of his dreams centered around Brennan and what had happened between them. He had no doubt that would come later, but for the time being he seemed to be spared those particular nightmares. He had worried that Brennan might suffer nightmares, but her sleep appeared to be the heavy, dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted. She slept for hours without moving or making a sound, and Booth was grateful for that.

They were still high in the air, on final approach to D.C. when his luck inevitably turned and the first nightmare hit her. He was on alert instantly when he heard her groan in her sleep, and he moved to stand a couple steps from the bed. Soon she was thrashing, fighting the covers, her head turning back and forth as he watched the sweat break out on her brow. Those things were bad enough; but it was the distressed way she kept uttering the word "No" over and over, sometimes as a shout and sometimes barely more than a whisper, that was his undoing.

The nightmare could be anything: it could be of her kidnapping, her other captors, or - like his nightmares - any of a hundred other situations from her past. And yet Booth did not even consider the possibility that her nightmare was about anything other than what he had done to her. His own guilt wouldn't allow him to. Afraid to touch her or wake her, fearing that his presence could only make things worse, he just stood and watched as the image of her having nightmares about _him_ was burned indelibly into his brain.

When she called out his name in conjunction with one of those horrible, tortured exclamations of "No" - _"No! Booth!"_ \- he only allowed it to sear him worse, rather than paying attention to her tone when she said his name. The two words were separated, more like she was calling out _for_ him rather than calling out _against_ him. But when the next word out of her mouth was _"Stop!",_ he was only more convinced of the worst.

The plane was descending rapidly toward landing, but he never noticed it. When he could no longer stand the nightmare and it didn't stop on its own, he only knew that he had to do something. Kneeling by the bed, he attempted to wake her with a gentle hand on her arm, lightly shaking it. His voice as he called out to her betrayed his own fear. "Bones! Temperance…it's a nightmare. Please...you're safe. Wake up." As she continued to thrash, he shook her arm lightly again, still trying to wake her. "Come on, Bones, wake up. I'm not going to hurt you. Wake up. I won't let anything hurt you. Bones!" As she continued to fight the covers, he moved to pull them off of her, hoping it would help her to feel less constricted, as he continued to utter reassurances and pleas with a shaky voice.

She let loose with a "No" that was more like a bloodcurdling scream, and that was it - he _had_ to stop it. Reacting purely on instinct and panic, this time he did not carefully consider his actions. He only knew he had to stop the nightmare, any way he could. Climbing onto the bed and rising up onto his knees beside her, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her to a half sitting position, gently shaking her and trying more insistently to wake her. "Bones, wake up. C'mon, Bones. Wake up now."

Suddenly she sat straight up and her eyes popped open, her breath coming in panting gasps. Her hands shot out to grasp his arms, which were still raised up where his hands rested on her shoulders. "Booth!" For one moment her eyes locked on his as he stared back frozen, not even breathing, their faces inches apart as a result of her sudden surge upwards.

Just as quickly as her eyes had focused on him in recognition, he saw that recognition disappear as the flashback hit her.

The only split second of warning he received was the sudden glassy look to her eyes as they lost focus, still staring at him but now _through_ him as well. It was the same look he had seen in her eyes twice before: once when she was screaming as he held her down in that godforsaken room, and the other when she had her first flashback on the plane.

Before he could even process what it meant, her hands released his biceps and suddenly hit him square in the chest, violently shoving him backward with a power that surprised him. "Stop! Get away from me!" He began backing away but she followed him, pushing and screaming, kicking and hitting all at once, deep in the throes of whatever horrific memory she was reliving. It was evident even to him that her mind was in a different place and different surroundings - she had no idea where she was or who he was.

He scrambled backwards, falling off the bed to the floor in his haste to get away from her. He heard running footsteps as he landed, causing him to immediately get back on his feet and try to locate where she was going. What he saw filled him with more terror than he had yet experienced, her name ripping from his throat as he began to run at her desperately.

" _Bones! No!"_

Her sole existence centered at that moment around escape, the flashback in total control of her, and she had run to and was clawing at the first door she found. To Booth's utter and complete horror, it was the door that opened to the outside. He was unaware of exactly how close they were to landing, but he knew they were still in the air. In horror he saw her frantic hands disengage the lock, moving to the handle…

She was a split-second from getting it open when Booth all but tackled her. He hit her from the side at a dead run, hearing the sharp exhalation that signified he had knocked the breath out of her. Both arms grabbed her around the waist, dragging her backward away from the door, as urgent in his attempt to get her away from it as she was to escape him and return to it.

The jolt felt particularly hard when he fell back and landed on the ground with her in his lap, but he did not have time to register the fact that what he felt and what had knocked him off balance was the plane touching down. He was too busy trying to contain Brennan, who was struggling like a cornered tiger against him, pulling back toward the door as she tried to punch and kick. Even more disconcerting was the fact that she was screaming the whole time, words that cut into him painfully. "Let me go! _Booth!_ Stop! No!" Again, he failed to catch the intonation in the way she screamed his name - not as if it was him she was yelling _at,_ but more like it was him she was yelling _for_ \- him that she was _calling_ for.

Somehow, with the help of adrenaline he managed to get both arms wrapped around her with her arms trapped beneath his, his legs wrapping around hers as well in an effort to hold her still with a tight bear hug. She continued to fight him, and he locked his arms into place around her by grasping his wrists to keep her from breaking free. His eyes were squeezed shut as he tried frantically to calm her, unable to do anything but talk to her - releasing her was out of the question, as he was unaware as of yet that the plane was on the ground and almost stopped.

"Bones, it's me! It's Booth - please stop. Come back to me, Bones. We're on the plane. We're about to land. We're almost home, Bones. Come on, _fight_ this, sweetheart. You're here with me. You're safe. You know I won't hurt you. You have to know that, Bones. Shhh, calm down, please."

The flashback seemed to go on and on, his words doing nothing to break through her terror. It seemed that his tight embrace was only making matters worse as she continued to try to break free, so in desperation he tried a different tactic. Twisting them on the floor so that their backs were to the door and he was between her and it, he took a deep breath and released her, simultaneously shooting to his feet and putting his back against the door. It effectively blocked her from being able to get to it, without his having to restrain her any further. If she came at him, he would just block the blows the best he could, but she wasn't going to move him.

Following the escape instinct that had taken over, she instead moved to the farthest point away from him - which just happened to be the small kitchen area where she grabbed a knife from the bolted down knife block on the counter. Her eyes were still wild, her mind still clearly not in the present. She swung the knife back and forth, eyes sweeping around the room as she fought attackers he couldn't see.

"Bones!" Afraid she would hurt herself, he slowly began to move toward her, arms held out to his side as he stopped several paces from her. If she made a move to harm herself, he would be on her in an instant, even if he got stabbed in the process.

They stood in that standoff for almost a minute, Brennan breathing hard and Booth barely breathing. They still stood frozen in that same position - Booth several steps from her and Brennan holding the knife warningly in between them - when the door opened unbeknownst to either of them.

It wasn't until Jack Hodgins' voice rang out across the space that Booth became aware of his presence.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

TO BE CONTINUED


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Angela's soft gasp pierced the silence that followed Hodgins' demand, her hands flying to her mouth as she entered a step behind him and took in the scene before her.

"Brennan?" Shock filled her voice as she gently called her best friend's name. She tried to take a step toward her, only to encounter the solid resistance of Jack's protectively outstretched arm keeping her behind him.

"Angela?" Brennan's answer was a small, hesitant sound. Her eyes began to clear, and she stood blinking in confusion as she looked around her, trying to figure out what had happened. She appeared utterly lost.

Her eyes next lit on her partner, stopping her rapid scan of the room and holding on him.

"Booth?" She said it as though she was just realizing he was even there. Her eyes pled with him to help her understand what was happening.

"Yeah, Bones." Booth had no concern in that moment for what Angela or Hodgins thought as they stood stock still, staring. "I'm here. It's okay. Everything's okay. Why don't you just go ahead and put the knife down? It's all right."

From the look of horror that spread across her face, it was clear that she only then became aware of the knife she held. Her hand raised of its own volition to pull the knife closer to her face. She studied it, twisting it and staring at it as though she had never seen it and could not understand why it was in her hand. The next sound was the clatter of the knife falling to the ground.

She seemed to think better of leaving it on the ground - some small rational part of her brain telling her to pick it up and put it in the knife block - so she dropped to one knee to retrieve it. Just as she reached for it, another hand gently wrapped around her arm just slightly above the raw skin on her wrist, stopping her from picking up the knife again. She looked up to see Booth kneeling directly in front of her, his eyes trained on her face even as his other hand retrieved the knife. He held it away from her and slightly behind his back as he used the hand on her arm to pull her to her feet with him.

"It's all right, Bones. You should go with Angela. She's going to take you to the hospital. I'll be there soon, okay?"

Still at a loss for words due to the confusion of finding herself inexplicably holding a knife on her partner, she just nodded, her eyes wide and locked on his face. She still did not move toward Angela, however, watching as Booth replaced the knife in the knife block and turned back to face her, keeping himself between her and it.

This time when Angela tried to push past the still speechless Jack, he let her. She was in front of Brennan in an instant, between her and Booth, wrapping her arms around her friend as Hodgins watched in observant silence. "Sweetie, are you okay? Don't answer that. I'm taking you to the hospital either way. Thank God you're alive!" Silence reigned for just a moment as Angela stood hugging Brennan tightly.

Booth's eyes turned toward Hodgins then, noting the tense way the smaller man stood surveying everything with intelligent eyes. His arms were crossed, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. He trained his questioning gaze on Booth, the message clear: he hadn't forgotten what he walked in on, and wasn't likely to; he would want answers.

Angela had her arm around the still somewhat dazed Brennan, guiding her toward the door. It didn't escape Booth's notice how Hodgins stepped around the two women, putting himself between them and Booth and not turning his back on him as he held his keys out to Angela. "Here, Ange. Take my car and get her to the hospital. I'll be staying here for a few minutes." He may have been a paranoid man, but Booth had to give him credit for being clever as well.

He saw through Hodgins' thinly veiled implication that he meant for Booth to stay there with him, but he paid him no attention. He was watching in amazement how Brennan kept looking back at him as Angela guided her toward the door, balking a few steps away. She seemed reluctant to leave him, and the surge of emotion that shot through was so strong that it almost buckled his knees. He reacted before he even had a chance to think about it, already moving to intercept the two women at the door. "You know what, Angela? Change of plans. My vehicle is still here, so I'll just drive her. Sorry to bother you."

Before Hodgins even had a chance to verbally express the _'no way in hell'_ look on his face, Angela turned on Booth and blocked him. "Okay, Booth, what gives? Fifteen hours ago you weren't even planning on being on this plane with her. You were hellbent on sending her home - alone - and having me meet her. Now I walk in on you two looking like you're acting out _that scene_ from Psycho, but suddenly everything's just dandy and you want to get rid of me? Uh-uh. Start talking."

Booth never even heard the second half of what Angela said. He was far more focused on the stunned look of absolute betrayal that appeared on Brennan's face the moment Angela said Booth hadn't planned to come with her. Her face was frighteningly white all of a sudden, and she was so tense he almost feared she would snap in two.

"Angela?" Booth's voice was soft for Brennan's sake, but his dark eyes were shooting daggers at Angela, his look so intense that she actually took a step back. "Not one more word."

By then she had also noticed Brennan's color and expression, and she realized her mistake instantly - obviously Brennan had never known that at some point Booth didn't intend to come home with her, and she didn't appear to be taking it well. Other than Booth, Angela probably knew better than anyone else exactly how Brennan would take that revelation and why, regardless of whatever else was going on. "Oh God...Bren..."

Booth barely even heard Angela. He was desperate to catch his partner's eyes, to do anything to get that look off of her face. She hadn't even looked at him like _that_ when he had... _'Oh, Jesus,'_ his mind screamed.

"Bones..."

Her mouth was a thin line, and he saw her swallow hard, averting her eyes and refusing to let him catch her gaze. "I want to go home now. Angela, can you give me a ride home?"

It was like he actually _saw_ the walls snap into place around her, and he wanted to put his fist through something. After everything else, this was what was going to drive her completely away?

He had spent so much time worrying about everything else that this never occurred to him. At the time he had told Angela he wouldn't be on the plane, he had truly believed that leaving Brennan would be best - for _her._ It could never be what was best for him. He had been reeling from the combined shock of what had been necessary to save her, how close he had come to losing her, and her voice ringing in his ears when he had asked if anybody forced her… _"No, just you…"_ That still hurt, dammit.

By the time Naji's departure had forced him to interact with her and he had begun to see that part of her still needed him - that she didn't hate him and was far more traumatized by the situation and her flashbacks than she was by him personally or his presence - he had forgotten all about telling Angela he wasn't coming.

But now that Brennan had heard it, there was no going back. It was the one betrayal that could actually be _worse_ in her eyes than what he had already done.

Four and a half years of baby steps. And although he would relive and redo everything he had gone through and everything it had taken to save her a thousand times over, and do it gladly for her - including every death on his hands - it would still make no difference to her. Sometimes he believed that she had spent their entire partnership just waiting for the day he would inevitably abandon her. And she didn't really tend to hand out second chances.

"Bones, just listen to me for a minute. It's not what you think." If he didn't get through to her _right then_ , he knew he might never get another opportunity.

Her back was ramrod straight, and she never even glanced in his direction as she squared her shoulders and made for the door. "I need to get some rest so I can get back to the lab."

Angela's eyes met Booth's at that one, and the exasperated look and head-shake she gave him clearly indicated that she was taking her straight to the hospital anyway no matter what she said, so he shouldn't even bother arguing that angle. Brennan was almost to the door, not even waiting for Angela at that point.

"Wait. Bones _…_ _Temperance…_ Just listen to..."

As he spoke her name, Booth cut in front of her and reached to put his finger under her chin, intent on _making_ her look at him if that was what it required to get her to listen. What caused his words to die in his throat was the way she flinched away from his touch before his hand ever made contact. It was the first time since the drugs had released their hold on her that she had done so without being under the influence of a flashback or nightmare, and it shook him to the core.

Angela saw it and her eyes grew wide.

Hodgins saw it and his eyes narrowed.

Booth just pulled back like he had been slapped.

Under any other circumstances, Booth might have found it almost laughable how completely unnecessary it was when Hodgins then put a hand on his arm with a quiet suggestion to back off and just let them go. It wasn't as though there were any possibility he was about to do anything else. As it was, however, there was nothing humorous about it. There was just pure, unadulterated misery.

Angela stood with her wide eyes flying back and forth from Booth to Brennan and back again as if she were watching a tennis match. Finally, she regained her composure and put her arm back around her friend's shoulders. "Come on, Brennan. Let's go."

Angela and Brennan disappeared out the door, and Booth stood in the door and silently watched them walk away for a few moments. Stepping back into the cabin, he began gathering up his things, ignoring Hodgins and the fact that he wanted to talk to him.

"Booth? You mind telling me what the hell's going on?" Hodgins' voice wasn't the least bit accusatory the way Booth might have expected, but he was still not in any mood for it.

"Briefcase with what little money is left is in the safe. Computer's on the table. I'm going to the hospital." He almost expected Hodgins to try to stop him, but the entomologist was still standing in the middle of the plane cabin when Booth exited for the last time and began making his way to his vehicle. He slammed the door and savagely hit the lights and siren as he pulled out, fully intent on reaching the hospital at the same time or even before Brennan could get there. He just had no idea what he was going to do when he got there.

ooo … ooo … ooo

As he had been doing for more hours than he could even count anymore, Booth sat in the hard plastic chair in the hospital waiting room - almost certainly the most uncomfortable, half-broken chair in the entire hospital, but the only one from which he had a view of Brennan's door down the hallway from him. Had anyone told him when he first arrived at the hospital that he would be anywhere _other_ than stubbornly by her side determined to prove that he would never leave her again, he would have recommended them for institutionalization. But that was before he got into the room to see her.

He had barely been able to get a glimpse of her when Angela and she entered the emergency room where he was waiting for them. The admitting nurse had taken one look at the bruises on her face and arms and the angry, raw skin of her wrists from the ropes and handcuffs, and had sent her back almost immediately. The fact that she was accompanied by Hurricane Angela hadn't hurt matters either, but the woman had been looking at Brennan with a pitying expression on her face that made Booth cringe because he just _knew_ that Brennan had to hate it. He also knew what the woman suspected had happened to her, and just the thought was still enough to gut him. But at least Bones didn't have to sit in a waiting room, for which he was eternally thankful. He was grateful to Angela as well, even if she was avoiding his eyes almost as much as Brennan was.

Booth had made absolutely certain that Brennan saw that he was there, but had known better than to follow her back where they would undoubtedly be undressing her. He just wanted her to know he was there, while he waited for them to put her in a room. It was probably better for Angela to be with her until then anyway. He would have plenty of time to implant himself firmly in the room and start Operation Not-Going-Anywhere when she was settled, and God help anybody who tried to throw him out. That included Angela, Max, Russ, Hodgins, or anyone else who wanted to attempt it.

It took far longer than he ever expected for them to put her in a room, giving him plenty of time to pace and aggravate the nurses with repeated questions about what was happening. He had lost count of how many times he had flashed his badge when told they could only give information to family. Finally, he was able to get a room number and leave the E.R., hurt but unsurprised that Angela had not come out to tell him anything.

He knew of only one way to proceed when he finally reached the door of her room, and that was just to walk in as though he belonged there. Taking a deep breath and trying to ease the flutter in his stomach, he walked into her room with a calm, reassuring smile on his face - one that was completely forced. Inside, he was shaking and more nervous than he had ever been. "Hey, Bones. How are you feeling?"

He may as well have been invisible for all the verbal response that he received - which was absolutely none. Her eyes looked cold and almost empty when they lit on him briefly before turning away to stare out the window. Angela, at least, was looking at him, and rather helplessly at that; she almost looked a little bit like she felt sorry for him, and it made him desperately want to know what had been said in his absence. He was more than a little surprised to see that look on Angela's face - he had almost expected her to try throwing him out of the room. Maybe she just wanted to give Brennan the honors of doing it.

Angela occupied one of the two chairs in the room, so he chose the other - a long, soft one of the type that could be folded out into a bed, directly beside the window Brennan was staring at. Like clockwork, her head turned in the other direction almost as soon as he sat down. The tell-tale machines she was hooked up to began to beep a little faster, letting him know his presence was causing a reaction - and probably not a good one.

What he really wanted to do was cry, but instead he forced himself to plunge onward as though everything were normal. He desperately wanted to find a way to let her know he intended to be by her side every step of the way, without having to call attention to the issue by actually _saying_ it. As he nonchalantly stretched his feet out in the chair he was sitting in, he thought he had found a way. "Hey, all right! This is nice! Looks like I won't have to sleep in a straight-backed chair, huh?" He felt utterly ridiculous when his words practically hit the floor and bounced, hoping that one of the two women would do something to save him. Angela, if anything, just looked like she felt even worse for him.

The beeping of the machines was only getting faster, and he could see that Brennan's breathing was increasing too. He was stressing her out, quite badly, and he had no idea what to do. How could he prove to her that he would never leave her side if he couldn't even be in the same room as her? His heart jumped up into his throat when he heard her begin to speak, but the flat tone in her voice was like having a bucket of ice water dumped on him. "Angela has offered to stay with me instead. There is no need for you to be here, Agent Booth. You should leave."

 _Agent_ Booth? No _need?_ He should leave? What was he supposed to say? He couldn't give her his immediate mental answer of ' _Hell no, I don't think so, and no fucking way.'_ He opened his mouth to tell her exactly how wrong she was about every single last word of it, when he noticed just exactly how high her heart rate had gone. A nurse entered the room at that very moment, having noted the change from her station, and began bustling around checking instruments. Booth was stuck between a rock and a hard place, but it didn't seem as though he had much choice. If he didn't want her heart to explode, he was going to have to get out of her sight for a while. But he was going to do it his way.

Taking a step closer, he ignored the nurse's protest and placed his hand on the bed just a hair's breadth from his partner's hand - not touching her hand, but so close that he could feel the heat radiating off of it - and waited for her to look at him. When she inevitably did, he held her eyes with his own, his dark ones boring into her and his voice low and deadly serious. "If you need time, Bones, I'll give it to you - as much as you need. But I'm not going to abandon you. Ever. I'll be just down the hall for as long as you're here. You want to see me, all you have to do is ask." He let two of his fingers stray just a half inch over to wrap around two of hers - noting with some satisfaction that she had not moved her hand away - and squeezed her fingers lightly before he turned and left the room. He quickly found the hard, miserable chair from which he at least had a view of the door to her room, and sat down to keep a silent, protective vigil. There was nothing else he could do but wait.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Nearly an hour after he sat down, he saw Hodgins enter and spare him only a brief glance as he passed by. He watched as Hodgins entered the room, then came out several minutes later with Angela in tow and held a hushed conversation with her in the hallway. Hodgins voice was too low for Booth to hear, and for the most part so was Angela's - until she got the horrified look on her face at something Hodgins had suggested and Booth was able to make out the words "rape kit" from her very upset exclamation. Reading between the lines, Booth figured out that Hodgins must have suggested to Angela that she should tell the doctors to perform one.

The thought of Brennan being poked and prodded like that after everything else she had gone through just pissed him off, but what could he do? If he angrily told them she didn't need one, he would only throw suspicion on himself and give Brennan more uncomfortable questions to answer. He couldn't very well be by her side from a jail cell. And if he were honest, a huge part of him was still worried that something _could_ have happened to her before he got there. She had been heavily drugged, after all. She might not even remember. He knew what the rape kit entailed and he hated it, but even he had to admit that it would be somewhat reassuring to have conclusive evidence that she hadn't been harmed in that way. He decided to bite his tongue and keep his mouth shut on that issue, hoping that they would allow Angela to be by her side when they did it. It might make him a sniveling coward, but for the sake of his sanity he didn't want to know when it was happening.

His reverie was broken by the sound of a throat clearing next to him. He had been so deep in thought that he had not seen Hodgins come and sit down in the chair beside him. He had disappeared after speaking with Angela, and Booth hadn't seen him reappear.

"She hasn't even seen a doctor yet. They just dressed her and put her straight in a room with no questions asked because of her celebrity status, but Angela's getting the runaround about when somebody's coming to see her. I just spoke with a nurse and dropped the Cantilever group name. We make a sizeable donation to the pediatric oncology ward every year, so maybe that will get things moving."

Surprised by Hodgins' willingness to volunteer information that Angela had neglected to give him even when he was standing in the room with her, Booth nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

He could feel Hodgins studying him and waiting for something, but he offered no explanations. His gratitude didn't extend as far as pouring out the entire sad tale to the entomologist. After a few moments, Hodgins cleared his throat again - a frustrated, somewhat angry sound.

"Fine. I'll start. Tell me when I get something wrong."

Jack's voice was more serious than Booth had ever heard him. "You break contact and refuse to talk to Cam or anybody else. You told Angela you weren't even coming back here. When you get here, Dr. B. is holding a knife on you and refusing to let you touch her. How am I doing so far?"

Booth kept staring straight ahead with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped between them. He didn't say a word, so Hodgins continued. "There are obvious finger bruises on her arms, and she's had either ropes or handcuffs around her wrists - probably both - tight. Somebody struck her across the face. She won't let you _touch_ her face. Still with me?"

The jumping muscle in Booth's jaw should have scared him, but Hodgins was on a roll now. "After you left, I did a little looking around - y'know, because it's not every day that I walk onto my plane and find a colleague holding off an FBI agent with a knife. Somebody forced the bathroom door open - it's hanging off the hinges. Inside, I find a woman's bra and panties that look like they were ripped off. Those are hidden in the bottom of the trashcan, under a suit that looks about your size. You work for the F.B.I., so I'm sure you know a thing or two about cover ups. Tell me - what conclusion would _you_ have come to? Trying to get rid of the evidence, Booth?"

Booth swallowed hard, trying to control his rage. "Sounds like you have it all figured out, Hodgins. Why don't you tell me what _you_ think happened."

In response, Jack held up a small baggie that Booth hadn't seen before. "I don't _know_ what happened. That's why I'm asking you. She's asleep, so I was able to get this. It's scrapings from underneath her fingernails. She either scratched or grabbed _some_ body. If I run this for DNA against the FBI employee database, am I going to find anybody I know?"

Closing his eyes, Booth remembered her grabbing and clawing at him when he had gone to lay her down on the bed on the plane. He also remembered her original struggle against him in Albania, as well as the way she had grabbed at his biceps when she awoke from her nightmare at touchdown in D.C. With a resigned sigh, he pushed to his feet to walk a few steps away. "Don't bother. It's mine."

Hodgins nodded his head thoughtfully a few times, keeping his seat and not flinching under Booth's glare. "Okay," he finally stated, a little cryptically. His entire demeanor had softened, almost as if he had found the answer he was looking for. Booth missed the shift, more than a little puzzled as to why Hodgins wasn't already dialing the police.

Just as Booth opened his mouth to offer to make the call for him, Hodgins shocked the hell out of him. "Now that you know what it looks like, why don't you tell me what _really_ happened? Who did this to her?"

It shocked Booth silent as he stared at him in surprise - he hadn't expected that.

He never got a chance to reply before he saw the two police officers walking down the hall and entering Brennan's room.

Hodgins' eyes were wide. "Hey, man...I didn't call them. I swear."

Booth sank back into his chair with a resigned sigh. He had, in some ways, expected this. "No, and neither did Angela. That's why it's taking so long and she hasn't even seen a doctor yet. The bruises, the marks on her wrists - somebody on the hospital staff called and reported her injuries."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Several minutes later, the door opened and Angela emerged. She made her way to where Hodgins and Booth sat, standing in front of them for a moment with her arms crossed. "Jack, why don't you go buy me a coffee?"

An amused, affectionate smile broke out on Jack's face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes in the midst of the situation they found themselves in. "Okay...I can take a hint." He was already out of his seat before he was done speaking. "I'm going, but just one question. What is she telling the cops?"

Angela glanced uncertainly at Booth, but finally answered Hodgins' question where both men could hear. "Exactly what you would expect from Bren - nothing. She has a million-and-one perfectly rational, super-technical answers for how she got every single injury, but I think the officers understood even less of it than I did. I'm not even sure it was in English. Basically, she claims it was all 'accidental' and 'self-inflicted'. Of course, _they_ think she's protecting somebody." Her look at Booth was a little pointed, and the implication finally pissed him off.

He never moved but shifted his eyes sideways away from her to hide some of his anger when he sarcastically responded, "Or she doesn't see the point in talking about it, because - correct me if I'm wrong here - I'm pretty sure that D.C. cops don't have a lot of jurisdiction in Albania. Or maybe she just doesn't want you giving her the third degree. Was it her that asked you to leave the room?"

He took her silence as evidence that he had hit the nail right on the head, and felt a small twinge of satisfaction at the look on her face.

"Oooo-kay," Hodgins broke through the tension. "Anybody else for coffee?" At Angela's glare, he held up his hands. "Fine, fine. I'm going." He cleared his throat yet again and only stood there for a second, looking from one to the other, making no move to leave. His next words came out all in a rush, directed at Angela. "Just remember that the maximum possible sentence for assaulting a federal officer is 20 years - one of the many ways in which our government seeks to exalt federal control of its citizens and make us all minions of the..."

"Jack!"

"Coffee. Right." And then he was gone.

ooo … ooo …

Angela was in the seat next to Booth before Hodgins was out of sight. "What do you think you're doing, Booth?"

"Excuse me?" He hadn't even moved. What could he possibly have done now?

"I mean what are you doing down _here_? I don't pretend to know what's going on with you two, but I know that Brennan is wondering the same thing. Why aren't you _with_ her?"

Booth was incredulous. "You're kidding me, right? Five seconds ago you practically accused me of being the one to hurt her. Now you're mad because I'm not in there? What were _you_ watching the last time I came in the room? For that matter, what were you watching on the plane?"

Angela wasn't backing down. "The same thing you were. But what I've been watching for the past hour is her staring at the door every five seconds. So I ask again: what are you _doing_ down here?"

Any small spark of well-concealed hope that had started to rear its head at her suggestion that he should go back to the room died a quick death as he groaned and dropped his head to stare at the ground between his feet, twisting his clasped hands. "You've got it all wrong, Ange. If she's watching the door, it's because she's afraid I _will_ come in. Hell, she's probably still afraid of _me._ You were actually right about her protecting me. There's a lot you don't know about what happened."

She didn't seem taken aback at all. "So enlighten me."

For a moment he actually thought about it. Cam and Sweets were sure to descend on the hospital at some point - he actually wondered why they hadn't, until he realized he had failed to tell anyone but Angela what time they would be in. Apparently, she hadn't shared the information.

But he didn't want to talk to Sweets _or_ Cam. Cam was a straight shooter, but she was also _his_ friend - a close one. Realizing it or not, she would spin things in his favor; he didn't really want to hear how he had done what he had to and how it was the right thing unless that was the straight truth. She couldn't possibly be objective. Sweets would analyze him to death, and he would probably find a way to absolve him completely as well, with some kind of touchy-feely it's-not-your-fault psychobabble. Angela, on the other hand...Angela was Brennan's friend, and she would give it to him straight. She would either understand or - much more likely - she would just castrate him and be done with it. Angela it was, then.

He opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, not believing that he was about to pour his proverbial guts out all over the hospital waiting room floor, especially not this soon and especially not to a woman who was likely going to pick them up and beat him with them. His voice was low, tortured. "I had no choice, Angela. When I found her, there were cameras..."

"Booth! What the hell is going on?"

It was the same words he seemed to keep hearing in different variations repeatedly over the last 24 hours. But this one was different - it was way worse. If anything could tie his tongue up in knots and make the words die in his throat faster than his partner could say, "Anthropologically speaking," it was the sight that greeted him, striding down the hall at top speed:

Max Keenan. With Russ in tow.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"Oh my God." Angela was first to speak after Max made his presence known. "What is he doing here?"

Booth and Angela stood simultaneously, and she stepped just slightly in front of Booth in what appeared to be a defensive posture designed to separate the two men.

"Booth, I didn't call him," she tossed back over her shoulder to him as Max approached.

By that time, Max's hurried steps had brought him close enough to hear Angela's last words; he did not appear to be very happy as he stepped up to put his nose as close to Booth as he could with Angela in the way. "Damn right you didn't call me. And neither did he. Where is my little girl?" His words were directed at them both, but his glare was all for Booth.

Angela only wedged her way a little more firmly in between the men, hoping to forestall a physical confrontation. Her eyes met Russ's, who put a lightly restraining hand on his father's shoulder. "Dad, give them a chance to talk. Is Tempe all right?"

Booth put a hand on Angela's shoulder and gently removed her from between them. It was as he did so that he remembered the missed calls on his phone from Max - the ones he had ignored in Lisbon when he had no intention of returning to D.C. He had forgotten all about them. The realization that Max didn't seem to know much of anything loosened Booth's tongue enough to put together a coherent sentence. "She's here, Max. She's going to be okay."

"She's resting," Angela threw in. It was a complete lie, as the police were still in with Brennan, but it was one Booth was thankful for. No good could come of Max knowing the police were there.

"Thank God." Most of the fight seemed to go out of the older man at the reassurance that his daughter was all right.

Booth hesitated for just a second, and then asked the question that was foremost on his mind. "How did you know she was here?"

Max appeared to bristle again at that. "Well it sure as hell wasn't because you ever answer your phone, Booth! I've been trying to get in touch with you for the last 36 hours!"

"Dad!" Russ cut him off, choosing to explain the matter himself. "We knew Tempe was leaving for Albania. She called us both before she left. Dad could never get her on the phone again after that, and he got worried."

At that point, a slightly calmer Max took back over. "That was when I started trying to call you, Booth. When I couldn't get you, I went to the Jeffersonian, but nobody would tell me anything. That's when I knew for sure something was wrong. I was getting ready to go to Albania myself, but Dr. Saroyan hinted that you might know where she is and I should wait to talk to you first. Only you never answer the damn phone, so Russ and I have been calling hospitals everywhere from here to Albania in case she ended up in one. An hour ago, he was able to find out she had been admitted here. What happened over there, Booth? Were you there _with_ her?"

"So Cam didn't tell you anything?" Booth asked, not missing the fact that Max didn't even know he had gone to Albania.

Booth's question wasn't really directed at Angela, but she answered it anyway. "I thought we should call Max _and_ Russ from the very beginning. But Cam said Brennan would never forgive us if Max took off to Albania and did something stupid. So no, when he started asking questions she didn't tell him anything."

"From the beginning of what?" Russ asked.

"What _is_ it with everybody always thinking I'm going to do something stupid? What, protecting my family is a crime?" Max said it incredulously with his hands spread in question, as though disemboweling people and burning them on rooftops was the standard, accepted way of protecting one's family.

Hodgins chose that moment to walk back up with a slightly amused look and a small tray that held three cups of coffee - one each for himself, Angela and Booth. "Yeah, you...you can be a little scary, Max. I have to agree with Cam on this one." He pulled out his cup and swigged a sip of his coffee, rocking back on his heels to watch the show.

"Agree with me on what? What's going on?" Every head turned to see Camille Saroyan enter. "Why am I only getting a text from you now, Hodgins? How long has she been here?"

"Oh, it's not so fun when _you're_ the one being left out of the loop, is it?" Max again.

"Dad, would you quit it?" Russ seemed more than a little embarrassed.

Angela ignored Brennan's family and answered the second part of Cam's question. "You know how Brennan can be. I thought it would be better to give her some time before everybody rushed her. So when I found out what time the plane was landing, no, I didn't call - _anybody._ " The last word had been directed at Max, who shot her a look. Angela just shrugged: "Sorry."

Hodgins ignored the Brennan family _and_ Angela and answered Cam's original question. "I was just agreeing with you that letting Max invade Albania...yeah, probably not the best idea."

Angela scoffed at her former fiancee, who was enjoying the spectacle a little too much. She crossed her arms, prepared to defend her original position that they should have notified Max when Brennan was missing. "Oh, right, because God forbid that somebody who loves her should go off half-cocked to the other side of the world by himself, guns blazing, and do anything crazy. We couldn't have _that,_ now could we?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, her head jerking toward Booth to clearly indicate who she already thought had done that, and that she didn't really see the difference.

Russ's head snapped to Booth at that. "So it _was_ you that found her." Admiration was evident in his quiet tone. "I figured as much. You went all the way to Albania? What happened?"

"How long have you guys been here? I just got a text from Hodgins." Sweets had just arrived. He wore a confused and somewhat hurt look on his face as he cut in, seeing that he was the last one to get there. "How's Dr. Brennan?"

Angela had just noticed the police officers walking down the hall away from Brennan's room, and was just about to diffuse the situation by telling Max and Russ to go see her, effectively separating them from Booth until she could find out what was going on.

Cam tracked her eyes, her expression growing concerned as she deduced from Angela's look that the police had been with Brennan. "The police? What did they want with Dr. Brennan?" she blurted out before Angela could say a word.

"The _police?_ " Max followed both their eyes and saw them too, and his ire began to rise again. "They're here for Temperance? I thought you said she was okay, Booth! What the hell else aren't you telling me?"

Angela looked completely panicked, and Hodgins - though he tried to play it cool - didn't look much better.

"No!" Hodgins practically yelled, before lowering his voice to continue somewhat shakily. "Uh, I mean no, they're not here for her. It's a big hospital. Lots of insurance fraud. That's probably why they're here." He was nodding rapidly, trying to appear nonchalant when everybody stared at him like he had lost his mind. "Looks like they came from the nurse's station. I haven't seen them anywhere around Dr. Brennan. Have you...Angela? Seen them? When you were with her? In the room?" He was trying to sound conversational, but his voice was coming out as little more than a squeak by that point.

Angela looked at him as though he had grown a third eyeball, but still managed to shake her head and smile. Her voice and smile were both just a little too bright. "No, Hodgins, I haven't. Seen them. With...with Brennan."

Hodgins looked a little embarrassed. "Me either. Probably just insurance fraud. Happens all the time." He shrugged, unable to stop nodding. "Hospitals."

Having read between the lines, Cam mercifully took the focus off of Hodgins and Angela. "Max, why don't you and Russ go see her? We'll all wait right here. What's the room number, Booth?"

Booth only managed to nod at first, his mouth dry. He didn't personally think that sending Max and Russ in to see her was a great idea, but it was probably unavoidable. "Yeah. 125."

Max still didn't seem ready to drop the issue. Russ's eyes flicked from Angela, to Booth, to Hodgins and back to Angela before pulling on the shoulder of his father's jacket. "Come on, Dad. Let's go see Tempe."

With one more glare, Max allowed Russ to pull him off down the hall. "From now on, Booth, something happens to my daughter and I expect a phone call from you. You got it?"

Cam, Hodgins and Angela all visibly deflated in relief to see Max walk away without waiting for an answer - with his track record, one wasn't really required. Booth sank back into his chair and dropped his head, heaving a huge sigh.

Sweets was wide-eyed, mesmerized at the scene that had just unfolded before him. "I should write another book," he muttered. "Fascinating."

In a flash, Angela was at Hodgins' side, shooting him a disdainful look. "Insurance fraud?"

He managed to look sheepish and defensive at the same time, his voice low and gravelly as he pointed in the direction the Brennan family had gone. "It's _Max_. He _burns_ people. So yeah, I froze a little. You didn't do any better."

Angela's voice was low. "I just hope he doesn't burn _Booth_. Did you find out anything?"

"No. Only that the skin underneath her nails is his and he doesn't want to talk about it. Then somebody sent me to get coffee. You?"

Angela shook her head. "No. Other than trying to get me to take her straight home, she hasn't said a word to me since I made it plain _that_ wasn't happening. She stared out the window all the way here, and she hasn't said a thing since. She did speak to Booth when he came in the room, but it wasn't pretty. Her heartrate went through the roof when he came in there."

"What did she say to him?" Hodgins was whispering by this point, watching as Cam and Sweets each took up a position on either side of Booth, trying to talk to him. Booth wasn't saying anything, simply leaning forward and staring at the door to Brennan's room, chewing on the side of his lip as one leg bounced up and down. He appeared incredibly nervous.

Angela's words came out with a weary sigh. "Well, she called him 'Agent' Booth and told him he should leave."

Hodgins cringed. "Ouch. What do you think happened?"

Angela shook her head. "I don't have a clue. But I intend to find out."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Cam quickly gave up on trying to get Booth to talk. She had known him long enough to realize he wasn't about to do so right then, and that she was wasting her breath. The hushed, conspiratory whispering going on between Hodgins and Angela had not escaped her notice, but they clammed up immediately when she strode over to talk to them. Soon they were engaged in small talk about Brennan's condition.

Sweets was either less attuned to the fact that Booth didn't want to talk to him, or simply more optimistic about his chances of success. He observed him for a few moments, taking in his body language as he stared at the door to Brennan's room. "You're nervous about Dr. Brennan's father seeing her. Why?"

Other than briefly shooting his eyes in his direction, Booth didn't respond in any way. Leaning back in his chair, Sweets tried another approach. "How are you holding up, Booth? Do you need anything?"

Again, Sweets received no response, and he sighed. "Fine. Jared. India."

That finally got Booth's attention. "What? What about Jared?"

"That's where you've been. With Jared, in India. He was in a motorcycle crash and was unconscious, but now he's fine. I got put on the spot about my knowledge of your whereabouts and the nature of your family emergency, and I panicked. You've never wanted to talk about your family, so I only know about your grandfather and Jared. Your grandfather wouldn't require you to go out of town, so..."

Booth was finally looking at him. "Thank you. Thanks, Sweets. You didn't have to do that. I didn't mean to put you in that position."

Sweets beamed at him. "Hey, what are friends and wickedly gifted psychologists for?"

For a second, Booth almost smiled at the ridiculously happy expression on the young genius's face. Almost. But then Max came barreling out of Brennan's room, walking in his direction at an alarming rate of speed. "Booth!"

Booth stood up instantly, every muscle in his body tense and prepared for the worst.

"Temperance told me what you did!" Max was still several steps away, but at those words Booth harshly sucked in a gasp of air that stuck immediately in his throat. Any intention he had of physically defending himself fled from him in that moment.

When Max was practically right on top of him and he saw his hands start to fly up, Booth tensed and closed his eyes, expecting a fist to crash into his face at any moment. That expectation only heightened the shock he would have experienced anyway when Max suddenly grabbed him in a bear hug, clapping him on the back as he hugged the younger man. "Thank you, son. I owe you everything. Thank you."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Angela's eyes flew to Hodgins' face immediately, his own locking back on hers.

"She's talking..." That was all Angela got out before she was running in the direction of Brennan's room, passing Russ on the way and completely missing what occurred between Max and Booth.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"Brennan?" Angela wasn't sure what she expected to find when she reentered her friend's room. She only knew that apparently she was talking, so part of her expected tears at the least. She was certainly not expecting a side of her friend she hadn't seen in years.

Brennan had raised the bed so that she was sitting straight up in it, and the look on her face was so expressionless that Angela knew instantly what was coming. Brennan had been uncommunicative ever since Angela brought her from the plane, but not like this. This hard, completely emotionless Brennan had not made many appearances since Booth had entered her life. In fact, the only time Angela could really remember it being this bad was when Booth had 'died.'

"What did you tell your dad?" If Angela knew one thing about Brennan in this mode, it was to ask direct questions and not to beat around the bush.

"I told him that there is no cause for concern with regard to my physical condition, and he should go home."

Angela somehow managed not to roll her eyes, though with great difficulty. "About Booth. What did you tell your dad about Booth?"

Even perfectly rational, scientific, calm Brennan faltered and averted her eyes uncomfortably at the mention of Booth, which Angela noted with great interest. "I told him the truth."

Angela was beginning to wish that she could just shake her. "And what is the truth?"

Brennan's eyes were fixed on a point on the window. "I was abducted by the lead archaeologist for the dig."

"Edon Tolka. I know." Angela filled in for her, and watched her flinch. She was more convinced with each moment that Brennan's hard demeanor was even more of a cover than normal. How long would she be able to keep it up before she fell completely apart? "I know, Bren. I was there when Zack broke the code you sent to Booth."

She had herself under even tighter control by that point, not reacting in any way to Booth's name. "Tolka sold me to a sex trafficking operation, where I was drugged and prepared for sale. Agent Booth found me, killed all of the men responsible, and escorted me back to D.C."

Only after she finished speaking did she return her eyes to Angela's face, her head held high and her gaze steady.

Angela's face, on the other hand, reflected the full horror of what she had just heard. She knew Hodgins had told Booth that sex trafficking was a possibility; but after they had cracked the code about Edon, the next news they received was that Booth had found her. Though all of the squints had suspicions, this was the first time that Angela knew for sure what had actually happened. "Oh my God. Sweetie, I...oh my God. And that's exactly what you told your dad?"

Brennan gave a short, curt nod. "Verbatim."

Angela rolled the words over and over in her head, also remembering everything Booth had told her. Just before Max's arrival, Booth had told her that Brennan was "probably still afraid" of him. Nothing in the version of the story Brennan had just given explained why, and Angela felt like it was past time to find out.

"Then why does Booth think you're scared of him?"

Angela's question hung in the air between them for a moment. Far more revealing to the artist than any verbal response was the body language she saw from her friend. Brennan's eyes dropped instantly, a faltering hesitation evident in her expression as she cast a furtive glance at the door. It caused Angela's eyes to grow as wide as saucers. That reaction, combined with what she had seen on the plane, not to mention Brennan's extreme heart rate when he had come in...

"Oh my God. He's right. You _are_ afraid of him."

The calculated coldness was back in Brennan's eyes almost immediately, her voice equally cold and closed off. "I do not fear Agent Booth or anybody else. I am perfectly capable of defending myself. As to what Agent Booth thinks and his reasoning behind it, those are not questions I can answer. They are questions better addressed to Agent Booth. I have already provided the relevant facts of what occurred; the rest is of no consequence."

 _'Of no consequence?'_ Angela floundered for a moment, unsure what part of that she wished to address first. "Okay, Bren, that's enough. First of all, you've got to stop with the 'Agent Booth' thing. Did you even see his face earlier when you called him that? It hurt _me_ when you called him that, but Booth...he looked like a kicked puppy. I don't know what happened over there, but I do know that that man left here determined to turn over heaven and earth to find you. Right now, he's sitting outside on a hard plastic chair. He hasn't gone home, he hasn't eaten, and he hasn't slept. He doesn't plan to, on the off chance that you might stop giving him the silent treatment and ask to talk to him. If you don't want to tell me why you're so upset at him, then you at least need to tell _him,_ because I can't take it anymore."

It might not have been the emotion Angela hoped to evoke, but she was almost glad to see it when a spark of anger flashed through Brennan's eyes. Her words, however, only left Angela more frustrated.

"I assured Agent Booth that I was being well cared for and that there was no need for his continued presence. I do not _need_ him. If he wants to leave so very badly, I am certainly not prohibiting him any longer now that we are back in D.C. I do _not need him._ " She spit out the last of those words viciously, the unemotional mask broken for just a moment. It was firmly back in place, however, as she continued. "Perhaps he felt constrained to escort me back to D.C. against his wishes. But now we are here, and he is free to leave."

Angela was all too certain of the reason for what she was now hearing. "Bren, if this is about what I said on the plane..."

"Dr. Brennan?" Angela turned to see that the long-awaited doctor had finally entered the room, along with a nurse rolling a cart full of instruments. Angela had no doubt that among the different items was the rape kit.

"Angela, there is no need for you to stay. I wish to speak to the doctor alone." Brennan was no longer even looking at her, and Angela could only comply with a huge sigh.

"Fine, Bren. I'll go. For now. But I'm staying here tonight, in this room, and you're not going to stop me. I love you, sweetie. And so does that man out there that you won't even call by name right now. If anybody doubted it before - which they didn't - he certainly proved it when he followed you all the way to Albania. Regardless of whatever happened over there, he's not going anywhere now, no matter how hard you push. Just remember that."

Angela closed the door softly behind her as she left the room, believing she was telling the truth but still bothered by the fact that she was almost certain Booth was right: Brennan was afraid of something, and it had to do with him. Was it that she feared he was going to abandon her, or was it something else? She was more determined than ever to get one of them to talk.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Slowly, it registered to Booth that Brennan's father hadn't slugged him one. Wondering how Max had gotten from _'Temperance told me what you did'_ to ' _Thank you, son, I owe you everything,'_ Booth could only conclude that Brennan must not have told her father the entire truth. How much did she even know or remember of the entire truth? It seemed that her memory was in a flux state at the moment, constantly changing and evolving.

When Max released him, Booth had the presence of mind to ask the only real question he could concentrate on at that moment.

"What did she say?" Fishing like that gave him the dirty, uncomfortable feeling of being a guilty man attempting to cover a crime, digging for information so that he could manipulate it to his own benefit. It was not a feeling he ever wished to experience again.

Max somehow gave the appearance of being grim and jubilant all at the same time. "All of it, Booth. The archaeologist, the human traffickers. She told me you killed every one of those sons of bitches. By God, son, I knew I was right about you. You're more like me than you think."

Max was too busy clapping Booth on the bicep to notice he looked a little green at that particular comment.

At Max's recap of what Brennan had told him, Cam, Hodgins and Sweets had all reacted. It was more of a confirmation of suspicion than anything for Cam and Hodgins, though they were both somewhat surprised to learn that Hodgins' initial suspicion of human trafficking had, in fact, been correct. Finding out Tolka was behind her kidnapping had seemed to discount that theory somewhat, causing them to be freshly horrified to learn that it was, in fact, true.

Sweets, on the other hand, was wide-eyed as could be at the mention of Booth killing them all. "Every one of them? How many?"

Booth never even glanced at the others, still intent on digging information out of the one person Brennan seemed to be talking to, no matter how guilty it made him feel. "How did she...how was she?"

Max shrugged and waved a hand in front of his face, attempting to hide the worried expression. "Ah...well, she said they drugged her, right? I'm sure that's what it is. She's not herself, but she's alive - thanks to you, Booth."

Another hand clapped Booth on the other shoulder, and he turned to see Russ with his hand extended. He shook the man's hand, feeling like an utter hypocrite. How would Russ react if he _really_ knew what Booth had been forced to do to his little sister in order to save her?

ooo … ooo … ooo

"Come on. You're going to let me buy you a hot meal in the cafeteria, and I'm not taking no for an answer." Angela appeared between Russ and Max, arms crossed as she looked at Booth. "Right now, FBI. The doctor's in with Bren, so it will be a while before anyone can see her anyway."

Booth was torn. On the one hand, being anywhere other than in Max and Russ's presence sounded like the best idea he had heard all day. But on the other hand...

Cam saw his hesitant look toward Brennan's door, and waved her hand at him. "Go, Booth. You need to eat. I won't leave this spot, and I know you've got your phone. If anything changes, I'll call you. I promise. Go."

After a few more minutes of Booth stalling, Angela insisting, and Cam reassuring, Booth reluctantly agreed and allowed Angela to pull him off toward the elevator. He knew what she wanted to talk about, and he wasn't entirely certain he still wished to tell her. The simple fact, however, was that it was chewing him up from the inside out. He needed to tell somebody, if only to see their reaction. He had been over it so many times in his own head that he could no longer trust his own reactions.

They were standing at the elevator, the doors opening, when the chilling sound rang out through the hallway.

"NOOOO! Booooth!"

Angela had never seen anybody move so fast as Booth did when he took off for Brennan's room at a dead run. She and Booth were twice as far away as Hodgins, Max, Russ, Cam and Sweets, who also began moving toward the room the moment Brennan screamed. Booth still reached the door before any of them, Russ and Hodgins just behind him.

As he crashed through the door, adrenaline shot through Booth at the sight before him. The nurse sat dazed on the floor, rubbing her face. The doctor was backed against the far wall, standing calm and still. Brennan stood beside her bed, some type of medical scissors in her hand as a weapon, with a look on her face that Booth was beginning to recognize. This time, however, he didn't rush her or grab her. He had learned something from the last two times.

"Nobody touch her. She's having a..."

"Flashback," the doctor finished the statement with him, almost too calmly. Clearly, it was something he had seen one too many times. "Yes, I know. We had just finished the rape kit. I was examining her other injuries while the nurse tended to the wounds on her wrists, and then it hit her. She knocked the nurse down and grabbed the scissors from the tray. Are you Booth?"

"Rape kit?" Max sounded stricken, and it was only then that Booth truly recognized the presence of all the others behind him, crowded in the door and gaping at the spectacle unfolding before them. "You mean to tell me that she was _raped?"_

"Oh my God, Tempe..." That came from Russ, whose fists were clenched at his side. He seemed as horror stricken as his father.

"And you all are?" The doctor seemed bored, as though his patient wasn't trapped in the throes of a terrifying flashback five feet in front of him, sending a jolt of fury through Booth. He clamped down on it and focused on his partner.

"Bones." Booth's voice was gentle, trying to ignore the others. "You're in the hospital. It's Booth. I'm here. Your dad is here. Russ is here. You're okay, Bones."

"I'm her father! What happened to her, damnit?" Max sounded like he was ready to come unglued as he approached the doctor.

"Examination showed no signs of any recent sexual activity." The doctor seemed to understand that he should answer this man if he knew what was good for him. "Judging by her other injuries, she was most certainly assaulted in some way; but she wasn't raped."

"Dr. Brennan." Booth turned to see Sweets now standing directly beside him. He had never heard his voice so gentle yet commanding. Gone were any hints of the 12-year-old he normally saw. A competent professional stood in his place, and Booth welcomed his presence.

"This is Dr. Sweets. Lance. Focus on the sound of my voice. You're having a flashback, Dr. Brennan. I know that it feels very real, but it's not." His voice was utterly calm but firm as he continued. "You believe it's happening to you again, but I can assure you it's not. It's over, and you're safe. What's happening is that you're remembering. Don't try to fight it."

The look in her eyes was beginning to fade a bit, but she hadn't dropped the scissors. Booth stared at her as Sweets continued. "I want you to do something for me, Dr. Brennan. Can you do that? First, I want you to take some slow, deep breaths. We'll do that together, Temperance."

Booth's eyes shot to the younger man at the use of her given name. It sounded odd coming from his lips. "Breathe in with me...and breathe out. Good." It didn't appear that she had done as he asked, but Sweets didn't appear fazed. "Breathe in...and now breathe out. Excellent. Now I need you to look around the room. Tell me what you see. Describe the room to me, Temperance. What do you see? Where are you?"

Booth watched, mesmerized, as her eyes traveled the room. Somehow, the psychologist had gotten through where he had failed. It only made him feel worse. _He_ should be the one to be able to reach her.

"A bed." Her voice was small, somewhat unsure about that, but Sweets only nodded. "Good. Very good. Keep going. What else do you see?"

"A hospital room." Her eyes continued to clear, finally focusing directly on Sweets. "I'm in the hospital." She lowered the scissors, sounding much more confident.

Angela was by her side in a heartbeat, helping her back onto the bed and easily pulling the scissors from her grip. Brennan's eyes finally trained on the doctor and nurse, confusion the only expression on her face. But when her eyes then focused on the crowd gathered in the door watching her, confusion fled in favor of shocked horror.

Sweets saw the look on her face at the same time Booth did, and they exchanged a look. Before Booth could even react, Cam saw it too. "All right, people. Everybody out. Let's go."

"I'm staying." Angela had planted herself, and Cam didn't pursue the point.

With one last concerned glance at his coworker and friend, a woman he had once been buried underground with, Jack Hodgins turned and quietly left the room.

The doctor and nurse were next to go, but only after Sweets assured the doctor that he was Dr. Brennan's psychologist and that she was under his care.

The doctor began helping the dazed nurse from the room. "We're finished here for now. I'll be in to check on her later. We're running a tox screen and some other tests, but I want to keep her overnight for observation." He addressed his comments to Booth alone, but even Max did not complain about that fact.

"If there are any further incidents, I'll be forced to have her restrained and sedated." The last comment by the doctor was directed at Sweets, who nodded in understanding. He also put a reassuring hand on Booth's shoulder, whose murderous glare made it pretty plain they'd have to go through him first.

Cam spoke next, turning toward Brennan's father. "Come on, Max. Let me buy you and Russ a cup of coffee to make up for not keeping you in the loop."

Max didn't budge. "Are you crazy? I'm staying right here with my daughter." His eyes turned to Sweets. "You...kid...what the hell was that? Is she going to be okay? It's the drugs, right?" He sounded a little desperate.

"Dad." Every eye in the room turned toward Brennan, surprised to hear her speak.

"You should go with Dr. Saroyan. I'll be fine. I would like to be alone with Angela and Dr. Sweets. Please." Her voice trembled a little on the 'please', and Max looked unsure.

Sweets crossed the room to speak to him out of Brennan's earshot. "It would be best to comply with any request she makes right now, Mr. Brennan. She's attempting to reestablish some control, and she might speak more freely without you here."

Max finally gave in. Crossing to his daughter, he hugged her. "I'm here, baby, if you need anything. I'll be here, okay?" Releasing her, he started for the door.

"You should go with them, Agent Booth." Brennan's calm, emotionless tone was beginning to come back, edged with just the slightest hint of shakiness.

Cam, Russ and even Sweets all had a visible reaction to that, but it was Russ who verbalized it.

 _"Agent_ Booth?"

Max was almost to the door, lost in his own thoughts, and didn't notice. _"_ Booth! You coming?"

It was Sweets who answered, after chancing a glance at Booth who was the only one who hadn't reacted to her formal tone…he'd heard it before. "Actually, Mr. Brennan, it would be helpful to the process for Agent Booth to stay."

Booth could see the wheels turning in Russ Brennan's head, even as he turned and pushed his dad the rest of the way out the door. "Come on, Dad."

Russ was the last out of the room, following Cam and Max. When he turned and met Booth's eyes for just a moment before leaving and closing the door behind him, questions were written all over his face.

ooo … ooo … ooo

As Brennan sat in the hospital bed immediately after her flashback, staring at the crowd of people in the door watching her, humiliation fanned the flames in her cheeks. Desperately, she willed them all to leave the room - but mostly just Booth. The urge to be out of his presence was even more overwhelming than the memories of what brought them to that point.

Before leaving the plane, the experience of coming out of her flashback about the men who had tried to sell her, only to find herself holding a knife on Booth, had been one of the more disorienting moments of her life. It had only served to throw her grip on reality even further into question. Never had it seemed that the concept of what was real and what wasn't should be such a difficult one, but it was that very puzzle which was consuming Temperance Brennan at that point.

Despite the plaguing memories and flashbacks of what happened between them, she had not lost confidence in _Booth_ and who he was. She had known he would help her to understand, help her to navigate the swirling tide of emotions that his actions had unleashed on her. The fact that he was the one who had caused them did not change the fact that he was the one best equipped to help her through it. He was _always_ there for her.

When he carefully removed that knife from her reach in the aftermath of her terrifying flashback, his strong presence in front of her had seemed to be the most _real_ thing she could imagine - and the safest. Had Angela not grabbed her when she did, the possibility that she would have flung herself back into his arms again was a very real one - one that had her longing to hold onto his strength for dear life and stay there until everything made sense again. She was tired of fighting to deny her need for him - she had done that for years now - and she was more than prepared to give in to it. When she had been tied and helpless in the back of Edon's van, she had finally realized just how much she _did_ need Booth. Back safely in D.C., she wasn't going to hide it from him. It would be irrational to dispute how irrationally she needed him. She needed him to help her through all that had happened to her - including the parts involving him. She just _needed_ him.

After taking the knife, he encouraged her to leave with Angela; she had not wanted to, and had almost certainly made that very plain. In retrospect, knowing what she now knew, that memory was a humiliating one.

For more hours than she could count at that point, he had been her lifeline; even when his presence caused her discomfort, he was still the one constant. The thought of sudden separation was a daunting one. It had been almost on her lips at that point to ask him to stay with her, when he had saved her once again. He had closed the distance between them and told Angela he would drive her to the hospital himself, sending relief flooding through her. Although in the past she might have questioned the all-consuming need to be in his presence, she had made her decision and was no longer going to fight it. She was ready to lean into his strength, to allow him to support her as they left the plane, as she had come to take for granted that he would _always_ do for her.

And then the world had turned upside down yet again.

 _'Fifteen hours ago you weren't even planning on being on this plane with her. You were hellbent on sending her home - alone - and having me meet her.'_

She never heard the rest of what Angela said. All she heard was that Booth had intended to abandon her, right when she had finally surrendered to the idea of needing someone.

And something inside her snapped in two.

Irrationally, she refused at first to believe it - until the darkness in Booth's eyes as he told Angela to stop talking confirmed it for her. Not only was it true, but he had tried to hide it from her.

Waves of pain and betrayal washed over her - the very pain she had spent years building impenetrable walls around herself to prevent. This was exactly why she had built those walls. In a blinding flash, it was like having her parents leave all over again; having Russ leave. Except somehow, this time, it was even worse.

There had been no walls before her parents left. She couldn't have seen it coming. Booth, on the other hand, had painstakingly removed brick by brick from her walls over the course of four years, and she had allowed it to happen. The last of her defenses had fallen during her captivity, leaving her with a raw need for Booth's arms around her - for Booth, in general. The walls were gone, leaving her completely unprotected as she finally admitted what she had long tried to deny. How many times during her captivity had she imagined his arms around her, holding her tight to his chest as he had done in the airport before she left?

But instead of the safety she had come to equate with his name, something terrible took its place in that moment. Pure, total abandonment was what she experienced in the aftermath of Angela's careless words, as she was hit with the suddenly humiliating memory of crying in his arms, clinging to him on the plane. Now she knew that it had been nothing more than pity on his part. He had not even wanted to be there. He had intended to abandon her. Clearly he had spoken to Angela of his intent to leave, and she must have coerced him into staying with her. He was not there with her because he wanted to be. He was there because he was Booth - loyal, steadfast, fulfilling his duty; his obligation. Certainly not because she was anything special to him.

She did not wish to be an obligation or a duty.

Reeling, she immediately began the process of shutting him out, struggling to rebuild the walls he had slowly penetrated, only to apparently decide she wasn't worth the effort.

Thoughts of her lab consumed her. When she didn't know how to handle something, that was where she always went. She tried to embrace it now, but the thought of burying herself in her work - once a welcome solace - now seemed empty. Her work had become too wrapped in him to bring anything other than more reminders of his betrayal.

Still, it was better than where she was right then. Anywhere was better than being in the presence of the man she had been prepared to surrender her metaphoric heart to, only to find out that she was still not worth sticking around for. It didn't matter why. He had planned to leave. Nothing could change that. If he had done it once, he could and would do it again.

Booth was, of course, the first thing she saw when she walked through the emergency room doors with Angela. She never looked in his direction again, but she could feel his eyes on her. Why was he there? He had certainly been all too eager to be out of her presence before. Why couldn't he leave her alone to her isolation now?

She received another jolt when he walked into her hospital room. He had acted as though everything between them was normal, and it was more than she could bear. She had set herself to endure what she hoped would be a short visit, staring out the window. But he had only moved to a chair in her line of sight. When she turned her head away, he began speaking, making it clear that he fully intended to stay the night in her room.

More humiliation had been the result when the loud beeps of her heart monitor gave away her irrational, panicked reaction to those words. She could pretend, so long as she didn't have to face him. The thought of having to remain stoic in his presence throughout the night, _knowing_ that he didn't truly want to be there with her, was overwhelming. She needed him to leave, desperately. To her relief, he had done so; but not before touching her hand and promising once again never to leave her. She knew better. She would never believe those words again from anybody. They had curiously little effect on her.

And it had seemed that he had proved her right and would, in fact, stay away. Through the next long hour, as she pretended to be asleep even when Hodgins entered the room and collected scrapings from beneath her fingernails, there had been no sign of Booth. She could not risk actually sleeping. She knew she had suffered a nightmare on the plane, knew more were undoubtedly coming, and she knew whose name she would be calling when those came. She would resist sleep until she could be home, alone and safe, where she could burden him no further.

Eventually, she knew, her subconscious would "catch up to her reality," as Angela would put it, and she would stop calling out for him when the nightmares attacked her. She had eventually stopped calling out for her parents after they left; she had eventually even stopped calling out for Russ when he left. She would eventually stop calling out for Booth, too. In the meantime, she would simply hide it.

When the police came, she explained away her injuries in an attempt to leave no doubt that either it was all self-inflicted or that she would be the most uncooperative witness in history. She stubbornly left out any reference to Albania, Booth, or anything else that she deemed too close to the truth.

Her father and Russ's visit had been the most difficult, perhaps because they were just further reminders of how much an abandonment actually hurt - and how impossible it was to restore a relationship to anything approaching normal after one. She gave them a very condensed version of the story, but spent most of the time squelching the very strong desire to throw herself into her big brother's arms and cry like she was a 15-year-old girl. Perhaps it was because Russ, though he had abandoned her, actually _had_ called her faithfully every year, and had forgiven her harsh treatment of him when they were finally reunited. Whatever the reason, Russ was the one visitor that she was actually sorry to see leave. Had she been able to keep him in the room without her father, she would have done so. Instead, she kept vicious control over herself and displayed no emotion to either of them.

Before Brennan even had time to recover from her family's visit, Angela had burst back into the room. She steeled herself to keep tight reign over her emotions, but nearly lost that battle when Angela said that Booth thought she was afraid of him. Of course he did. She had certainly given him sufficient reason to believe so; it probably only added to his disgust, and was surely one of the reasons he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. She found those responses humiliating as well. He must think her to be the most ungrateful person he had ever met. Even if he had stayed, how could she ever explain her lack of trust to him without making him hate her more?

She knew how important trust was to Booth. If she could have stopped her fearful reactions on the plane, she would have. Much though she hated to admit it, she simply could not overcome her irrational responses to him. If that was what had driven him to want to leave her, at least she would have the small comfort of knowing it wasn't something she could have done anything about.

She had attempted to deflect Angela's questions, but then had been subjected to Angela's defense of Booth. It made her wholly, unthinkingly, mind-numbingly furious. It might have been childish, but Angela was supposed to be _her_ friend, and she was the one who told her Booth wanted to leave to begin with. How could she stand there and tell her how much Booth loved her? In that moment, Brennan became even more isolated as she lost confidence in Angela as well. How many times would life have to teach her the same lesson: not to trust anybody?

Angry words fell from her lips, emphasizing and reemphasizing how much she did _not_ need Booth. She sounded out of control even to her own ears, and had tried to bring her tone back under control.

Shutting Angela out, she began to formulate a plan of action. She just needed to convince everyone she was all right long enough to get out of the hospital, and then she could truly begin healing. She was going to start by going away for long enough to gain some perspective. It was why she always left: to put herself in control, to keep others from leaving _her,_ to strengthen her walls.

It was only moments before the doctor and nurse entered, giving her an excuse to send Angela from the room. A blinding terror gripped her for a moment when she became aware of their intention to perform a rape kit, but she ruthlessly forced down the feelings that it evoked. She had not wanted to go through with it, but there were too many disjointed images swimming through her mind to fully trust her own memories. She had to accept that something could have been done to her that she did not remember, lost to her conscious mind through a haze of drugs and trauma. If there were a possibility of disease or pregnancy, she needed to know about it.

As she lay there being poked and prodded, her thoughts were on trying to forget how much she had humiliated herself by displaying unabashed need for a man who clearly had only been fulfilling his partnerly duties to her. The urge to escape began again to overwhelm her.

She knew that what was expected of her was to let Angela stay with her in the hospital, accompany her home, and even stay for a few days until she was convinced she was all right. She set her mind to endure those things, so that she could then go away without having to go through the harassment that was sure to come if she tried to disappear immediately when released from the hospital.

What happened next accelerated her plan greatly.

The doctor finally told her that there was no sign of sexual activity; relief flooded her, and she thought the worst was over. But then the nurse had begun tending to the wounds on her wrists.

The flash of pain against the raw, tender skin sent her mind straight back to the curtained-off room where she had been held, handcuffed to a bed and being drugged. When the nurse attempted to fasten the bandages around her wrists, instead of the soft swish of fabric what she heard was the _click_ of the handcuff locking around her wrist. Instead of the nurse, a man stood there with a syringe, preparing to inject her. She shoved him away with all of her might, and grabbed what she thought was her shard of glass she had held onto throughout most of her captivity, just waiting for the right moment to use it.

As though from far away, she was aware of a voice screaming as she shoved the threatening figure that had been looming over her. The voice screamed for Booth, begging for his help, and she realized it was her own voice. Other voices seemed to roll around her, distant and overlapping. None broke through to her.

But moments later, a voice finally _did_ break through, asking her to look around the room. She had resisted the voice, but it had been calm, soothing, insistent, dragging her back into the reality of the hospital room.

Her shard of glass had turned out to be scissors. Her attacker on the floor was the poor nurse she had struck. The worst part, or so she initially thought, was the group of onlookers standing in the door, witnesses to her complete lack of any mental stability. Mercifully, Cam had begun the process of removing everyone immediately.

Her relief that everyone was leaving lasted for approximately two seconds. Then her eyes lit on Booth, and all of the hurt, betrayal and humiliation flooded back through her; she almost wanted to go back where she had just come from. Almost.

Mortified, she realized why he was there: he had heard her scream his name. He _knew_ now that she needed him. And he was only there out of pity. Suddenly, she understood a colloquialism she had heard Angela use many times to describe embarrassment - something about wanting to fall through the floor. It had never made sense to her before; but in that moment, had a gaping chasm presented itself in the floor before her, she would have willingly jumped into it.

That was the moment that her plan changed. The desire to escape _immediately_ thrummed through her with an intensity that almost frightened her. She had to prove to him she did _not_ need him. She did not need anybody. She would do or say whatever was necessary to rid every single last person from her room so that she could get away.

Opportunity presented itself when she heard Sweets telling the doctor that he was her psychologist. Psychology was finally going to benefit her, though not in the way that everyone expected or intended.

Pleading with her father that she needed to speak to Sweets and Angela alone provided her with the exact results she had hoped for: he and Russ took their leave with Cam and Hodgins. Sweets took care of the doctor and nurse.

Soon, she was trapped in the room with only Sweets, Angela...and Booth. Getting rid of Booth was not proving to be so easy.

But she was going to do so, even if it meant playing the psychologist's game.

ooo … ooo … ooo

When the door clicked shut behind Russ and the others, Angela was standing close by the bed where Brennan sat. Booth and Sweets still stood side by side, only a few steps inside the room from the doorway. Before anyone else even had a chance to speak, Brennan surprised everyone by being the first to do so.

"I apologize for my emotional outburst. Clearly the drugs are still affecting me. Dr. Sweets, you and Agent Booth may leave now as well."

As she turned her head to stare out the window and not meet any of their gazes, the reactions she received to that statement varied widely.

Angela actually snorted. "Not on your life, Brennan."

Booth took the understanding route. "Bones, you have nothing to apologize for." His voice was soft, everything about his tone and stance pleading with her to just please _look at him._

Sweets' reaction was the most dramatic. He stood, hands on hips, shaking his head in dumfounded amazement. "You did that on purpose! You told your father and the doctor that you wanted to talk to me, just so they would leave, didn't you? Didn't you?" He could barely believe that he had been played. "You just used the fact that I said I was your psychologist to get rid of them, and now that they're gone you want to get rid of me too. You never had any intention of talking to me, did you?" Even after whatever trauma she had been through, the woman could still surprise him - _and_ insult him - 30 seconds after he talked her through what was obviously a terrible flashback. "Not cool, Dr. Brennan."

Angela looked as though she had had enough. "No, Sweets, but it _is_ typical. Nobody has mastered the art of avoidance quite like Brennan." She turned her focus on Brennan. "Sweetie, we're _going_ to talk about this, whether you like it or not."

Brennan acted as though Angela had never spoken. "There's nothing to talk about, Dr. Sweets. Angela may stay, if it will reassure everyone, though it's completely unnecessary. You and Agent Booth should go."

"Oh, gee, thanks Bren. So glad to have your permission." Angela rolled her eyes. "But if you're planning to kick me out next when you get rid of Booth and Sweets, you can forget it. And I'm not letting this drop."

Booth seemed completely at a loss for words, looking at Sweets as though he expected him to work some type of miracle. It was almost unnerving to the young doctor. It never failed to amaze Lance Sweets how Booth could demonstrate zero confidence in him most of the time, then suddenly show up and expect him to be able to fix _any_ thing instantly. This was one of those times, though the obvious desperation in the older man softened Sweets' irritation somewhat.

"Sweets! Do something!"

To his credit, Sweets stood his ground. "Dr. Brennan, you had a flashback. You called for Agent Booth in the middle of it. Do you remember why?"

"Oh, don't _you_ start with the 'Agent' Booth stuff, too." Angela's hands went straight to her hips. "You're encouraging her!"

Booth's head had shot up at the remark by Sweets, suddenly hit with the full impact of what he had just heard. Bones had definitely called _for_ him. He had not stopped to consider it fully at the time; he had just heard her scream and he had begun running to her side. But in retrospect, it certainly seemed clear that her urgent cry had been for his assistance - for his presence - and not a plea for him to stop hurting her. And yet...

"She called... _for_ me?" He hated how desperate his voice sounded, but he had to know - he had to be sure that was what everyone else had heard as well. That small distinction held more importance for him than they could imagine.

"Most definitely." Sweets would never know just how much his certainty meant to Booth. He seemed more confused by the question. "Dr. Brennan called out for you in the midst of her flashback. Didn't you hear it? I assumed that was why you came back."

Booth didn't bother trying to explain to the kid that it wouldn't have mattered _what_ she screamed; she could have been yelling for his arrest, and he would have still double-timed it to her side. The sound of her screaming equaled him getting to where she was, immediately, period. He cleared his throat before answering. "Yeah. I heard it."

 _'Damnit.'_ He could feel Sweets' gaze on his face, and knew that Sweets had picked up on something based on his question _and_ his answer.

In the bed, Brennan's cheeks were flaming a bright red, and she was carefully not looking at Booth. The distinction that she had called _for_ Booth might have meant the world to him, but Brennan seemed to find it distressing in equal measure. When she spoke, she sounded extremely defensive. "As I stated before, I was not in control of my actions. Agent Booth is under no obligation to remain here. I have no need for his presence. It was merely a dream."

Sweets pressed a little further, trying to ignore the pain on Booth's face at her words. He would talk with Booth later - right now his focus had to be on Dr. Brennan. "No, Dr. Brennan. It wasn't a dream. The doctor said you were awake and being examined when it started. What you experienced was a flashback; you were reliving a memory of something traumatic. Do you remember what that was?"

She only stared at him with that emotionless mask that didn't quite hide her flaming red face, so Sweets shifted tactics. "Okay. Another question. Why do you suddenly want so very badly for Agent Booth to leave? You've mentioned it several times. Is Agent Booth part of the experience you were remembering?"

Although Sweets did not intend that final question in the way that Booth automatically took it, it still caused Booth to suck in a breath like he had been hit; and Sweets and Angela both heard it.

The fact that Brennan bit her lip uncertainly, her eyes immediately dropping down to stare at her clasped hands in her lap, did nothing to help. To everyone's surprise - including her own - she actually answered that question. Something about it had broken through the barrier she had thrown up around herself, eliciting an honest if painful reaction. "I'm...not sure. That's what - I think - I don't know."

"Oh Bones..." Booth's voice was so full of emotion that her name came out on little more than a whisper. Torn between the overwhelming desire to go to her and the conflicting desire to not pressure her, he awkwardly shifted from one foot to another and prayed she would just finally look at him so he could see what to do. "Do you remember what I told you on the plane?" His eyes and his voice were both intense. "You don't have to protect me. _Talk_ to him."

Angela looked from Brennan to Booth a few times as she processed both of their reactions and his words, her gaze thoughtful. "Booth said he thought she was afraid of him," she finally piped up as she crossed her arms. "Maybe you should ask them about that."

"Angela!" Booth hissed through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, Booth, but trying to get information out of either of you..."

"Guys!" Sweets was becoming visibly frustrated. "Not helping. Trained psychologist at work, okay?"

"I'll talk to Dr. Sweets. Alone." Every eye turned toward Brennan in surprise as she nipped the blossoming argument in the bud with six cold words, her barriers visibly back in place.

"Oh, nice try, Brennan." Angela wasn't buying it. "You just want us to leave you alone with Sweets because you can push him around and intimidate him. As soon as we're gone, you'll send him packing too."

"Hey!" Sweets clearly took exception to that assessment.

"I'll only speak with Sweets." Brennan stubbornly turned her head to the side, clearly intent on staring at the window and not saying another word until Angela and Booth vacated the room.

"Guys..." Sweets was gesturing for Booth and Angela to do exactly that, but both seemed reluctant to leave, although for entirely different reasons.

Finally, Angela broke the standoff. She wanted a chance to speak with Booth alone anyway, and it was the perfect time. "Fine. But we're not going far. Come on, Booth."

"Bones. Will you just look at me for a minute?" When she still refused to acknowledge him, Booth sighed and followed Angela from the room.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Sweets and Brennan studied each other for a few moments, each trying to decide how to proceed.

"Dr. Brennan? You asked to speak to me alone. Is there something in particular that you wanted to talk about?" Sweets' face was open, friendly, giving away nothing of his suspicions that he was being set up. Everything about her was tense, poised for flight.

"Yes, Dr. Sweets. You said that what I experienced was a flashback. Could you please tell me more about that?" At his continued scrutiny of her, Brennan added further explanation. "I find them to be quite disorienting, and I was uncomfortable discussing the content of them in front of Angela and...and Booth." She had only barely remembered not to refer to him as 'Agent' Booth. If Sweets reacted to her using Booth's official title in the same way Angela did, it could only lead to more questions.

Sweets relaxed slightly, satisfied with her explanation of why she had dismissed Booth and Angela, and launched into a full explanation of what she was experiencing. Brennan, of course, was not listening. She had only wanted to earn his trust by engaging in conversation with him, so that she could make her _real_ request of him.

"...and so in addition to keeping a journal to record the details, I would also recommend using the five senses method of coping with the flashbacks. For example, I used the 'sight' technique with you earlier, asking you to focus on your surroundings in order to ground you. You could use any of the other senses as well...a loud noise, a particularly strong taste or smell. Any of them can serve to help ground... Dr. Brennan, are you listening to me?"

"Yes." She had not been, because she was busy formulating her next words. Her heart pounded as she put her plan into action. Booth had once accused her - after the Gormogon vault - of being a terrible actress. But she had a very steep learning curve, and the desire to escape was a powerful motivator to get it right. She would not make the same mistakes again. She needed to appear compliant with the therapy process, and she would not overplay her role. "Dr. Sweets, I need your help. I'm ready to talk about what happened to me. But as I am sure you are aware, certain aspects of my captivity are...deeply personal."

Sweets was nodding understandingly. He had seen the marks on her wrists and arms, and he had heard Max's condensed version that involved sex trafficking. "Yes, of course."

"I'm not comfortable discussing it with Agent Booth or Angela. I would also prefer not to discuss it with you, as we see each other on a daily basis. I would really like to talk to my brother, alone, but my father makes that difficult. Could you please help me have some time alone to talk with Russ? I'll be willing to talk with you afterward, but I would really like to see my brother."

It was her offer to talk with him afterward that convinced him. Sweets still did not entirely trust her, not after her use of him to clear the room earlier, but what could possibly happen?

He knew by now that normal techniques were almost completely ineffective on the forensic anthropologist who knew just enough about psychology to not only hate it, but to be able to thwart his efforts. For her, an unorthodox approach could certainly be best.

He also knew that Booth and Angela were almost certainly within view of her door. What could it hurt to send Russ up to talk with her while he stalled Max? He had the promise that she would speak with him later. And the opportunity to spend some time picking Max Keenan's brain...

"All right, Dr. Brennan. I would say that's a reasonable request. Wait here, all right?"

"Where else would I go? Thank you, Dr. Sweets."

ooo … ooo … ooo

She watched as he left the room, finally leaving her gloriously alone. The urge to remove the medical monitors and leave immediately was almost too tempting to fight, but she pushed it down. She, too, knew that Angela and Booth were almost certainly just outside her door. She did not have clothes, money, or anything else she would need to get far enough away. She was going to need some help, and she was counting on her brother to provide it. He of all people should understand the need to run.

Long moments passed, and she began to worry that Sweets was not going to come through for her. When the door began to open again, every muscle in her body tensed in fear that it would be Sweets, Angela, or - even worse - Booth.

"Marco?"

The soft voice and gentle smile of the brother she had once worshipped and adored sent a surge of genuine emotion through her when he poked his head in the door, bringing all of her repressed tears to the surface.

"Polo. _Russ!"_ The dam broke, the flood gates opened, and the much-needed tears began to flow freely as her plan was temporarily forgotten. Suddenly, she was 15 years old all over again, with no one to count on but her super-cool big brother. And this time, he was there.

She was out of the bed and crying on her brother's shoulder before the door ever closed behind him - great, heaving, gasping sobs that shook them both.

"Whoa, Tempe..." She had taken him by complete surprise after the completely unemotional performance he had seen from her earlier, and it took him a moment to recover enough to wrap his arms around his sister. "Hey, it's okay. It's all right. Shhhh... What's wrong?"

Her sobs continued, as she cried out all of the pain she was feeling over Booth onto her brother's shoulder.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth and Angela stood only a few doors down from Brennan's room. While Angela still fully intended to get the truth from him, she had not yet received a chance to ask him her questions. She had been too busy fielding questions from him about every word Brennan had said to her in his absence. With much stalling and some artful rewordings, she had done the best she could to spare him any more pain. There was not, however, very much possibility of sugarcoating the fact that Brennan wouldn't even look at him, call him by name, or say anything about him other than the fact that she didn't need him.

"Booth, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I didn't know that _she_ didn't know you had planned not to come back to D.C. with her. You know how Brennan is. She doesn't hate you. She's just running scared now, making sure that if somebody leaves it's her and not you."

She noticed that Booth was looking over her shoulder at something behind her; she turned, following his eyes to see Russ entering Brennan's room.

After a moment, curiosity got the better of him and Booth walked to the door to look through the small rectangular window that allowed him to see into her room.

The sight of her sobbing almost hysterically in her brother's arms caused a lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow. It had to make him a selfish bastard - because he himself had told her to talk to _somebody,_ even if it wasn't him - but it hurt like hell that she was turning to someone else; the fact that it was the brother that he was in some ways responsible for bringing back into her life only amplified his pain, for some reason.

He almost bumped into Angela when he turned to swiftly walk away from the door. With a hand on his arm that told him she knew what he had seen, she pulled him back down the hall a small distance to where they had been standing before. "I'm sorry, Booth. I truly am. Please tell me what happened. Where did things go so wrong between the two of you?"

Feeing more tired than he could ever remember, his eyes were still fixed on the door to Brennan's room. "Does it even matter anymore?"

Angela squeezed his arm tightly, tilting her head to try to catch his eyes. "I think it might. Will you tell me what happened, Booth?"

His eyes clamped shut and he drew a shaky breath. "Yeah. I'll tell you. Just don't hate me too."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Movement at the door caught her eye even in the throes of her sobs, and Brennan stiffened in her brother's arms when she realized it had been Booth at the door watching her. Fresh resolve filled her as she saw his back walking away, and she made a concerted effort to get herself under control.

When she had managed to reign in the sobs, she pulled back far enough to look at her brother. Her voice shook as she gripped his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Russ, I need your help. Please."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Slowly, Booth let himself slide down the wall, not even caring that he was sitting on the floor in the middle of a hospital hallway. Angela sank down beside him without a word. She seemed to understand that he needed to be close to Brennan's room to keep an eye on who went in and out, but that he didn't want to have this particular conversation in the waiting room where Max and their coworkers could reappear at any moment.

His feet were flat on the floor with his knees pointed skyward; the casual way his arms rested on them belied the fear he felt at what he was about to do. His head leaned against the wall, with his eyes focused away from Angela and toward Brennan's room. He had a soft spot for the flirty, flaky artist, and he didn't want to literally watch the mild case of hero worship she had always held for him disappear, turning into disappointment and hatred. He was going to miss that little crush she had on him - it had always done good things for his ego. It didn't hurt to have _somebody_ around to stroke your ego when you're Temperance Brennan's partner.

"It all happened so damn fast, Angela." He didn't even attempt to censor his language, as he would normally try to do out of respect. At this point, what went through his mind was going to come out of his mouth and he could worry about it later in the confessional. He would be spending an inordinate amount of time there anyway. "That bastard Tolka _sold_ her to be a goddamn sex slave."

Angela's sharp intake of breath was the only reaction he was privy to. He didn't see her eyes squeeze shut, didn't know that she was suddenly not so sure she wanted to hear. She had known that part, of course, but somehow hearing Booth say it in such crude fashion made it much more real and _so_ much worse.

"We just barely got there in time. Naji found her just a few hours before she was supposed to be auctioned. It was too late to get her out of it; they had already...got her ready." He gestured toward his body with a noncommittal sweep of his hands. No way was he going into more detail on that. He knew Angela could fill in the blanks. "We could have waited for auction and tried to buy her, but it was just too damn risky and we didn't know what would happen to her in the meantime. The best Naji could do was buy me an hour with her."

This time Angela's breath left her in a rush. If the thought of Brennan being sold like a prostitute with Booth as the john was sickening to her, she could only imagine how Booth felt - and Brennan too, for that matter.

"We had to go in undercover, and there were bouncers at the door. I couldn't take my gun, a knife...not even a goddamn lock pick. I had a cell phone and a money clip with a fat wad of cash. For all the good that did me."

He was suddenly aware of a hand resting on his arm; he wasn't sure how she would take it and he didn't care, but he had to push her hand away. He couldn't bear sympathy when he knew what it was about to be replaced with.

"Then it all went to hell. We had already...tried one other place to find her." His eyes squeezed shut at the memory of pushing back a curtain in that godforsaken warehouse to see a man on top of what he thought was Brennan. He had come completely unglued on that man - had lost total control for a few moments. But that wasn't what was important.

"Turns out, we ended up on camera. By the time we got there, the son of a bitch in charge had seen it. The whole conversation happened in Albanian and I didn't understand a word, but I knew our cover was all but blown and I was going to have to be careful."

A tremor had entered his voice, and he didn't see Angela nodding her head in silent encouragement for him to go on.

"They took me to her. Locked me in with her behind a solid metal door and left me there, thinking I was going to..."

Suddenly, it really hit him what could have happened to her, and his eyes went hard as steel. "They didn't know who I was. I could have been anybody. The fucking _bastards_ dressed her up, chained her down, and were going to let some guy..."

For a moment he glanced over at Angela and saw the tears in her eyes, the pure compassion there. He wasn't sure at that point if it was for him or Brennan. He did know he couldn't complete that thought, so he moved on, fresh rage filling him.

"There was a bed, and she was..." A hitch in his voice, and he looked away again. "She was chained. They had a shackle locked around her ankle, bolted to the floor, and there was no way I could get her out. I knew right then I'd have to wait until somebody with a key came to get _me_ out so I could get _her_ out."

He was stalling now, and he knew it.

"Okay." Angela's soft voice. "Booth, what you're telling me is terrible. But I still don't understand what made you think you had to leave. It sounds like you did everything you could to..."

"I wasn't even all the way through the door," he cut her off, talking over her and pointing upward like he was seeing it all again, "when I noticed the camera on the ceiling."

His eyes turned to Angela, searching hers desperately. "They were _watching_ us, Ange. They were _watching_ , and I knew what they expected me to do. If I had _any_ hope of getting her out alive, I had to play along. Do you get it yet? Do you understand what I had to do?"

His voice was rising, getting louder with each word as he became more agitated, and the two of them were beginning to draw attention. Inevitably, a hospital worker finally paid attention to them sitting on the floor and stopped to intervene.

"Sir, ma'am, you can't stay there. I'm going to have to ask you to move to the waiting area."

Angela gave a forced smile up at the woman, but her voice was firm. "Just give us a minute here, all right?"

"Ma'am, I'll be forced to call security if..."

Angela's glare this time could have melted glaciers. "You do that, okay, honey? We're not moving. _He's_ bigger than they are." She jerked her thumb in Booth's direction.

The woman left in a huff, presumably to call security, and Angela turned her attention back to Booth. "Tell me, Booth. I can probably guess, but I think you need to say it. What happened?"

Booth looked miserable. If she was telling him she thought she could guess in that calm tone, it was a pretty good indication that she had no _idea._ If she did, he figured she would have already slugged him and called for security herself.

His voice was little more than a whisper. "I tried, Angela. I tried _so damn hard_ to get her to look up at the camera, to understand what I was about to do."

It was at that point that Angela's uneasiness tripled. She had figured out where this was going right before the hospital worker interrupted them, but it hadn't even occurred to her that Brennan might not have known what was happening - that instead of being a reluctant participant in the performance, she might have been a completely unwilling, unknowing one.

"I was _desperate_ for her to know. But instead she...she tried to ask me what I was doing - _why_ I was stalking her and - and taking my damn clothes off." His head had dropped, and he now stared at the floor between his feet, blinking back tears. Suddenly he couldn't meet Angela's eyes _or_ look toward Brennan's room.

"Oh God…Booth." Angela sounded slightly panicked all of a sudden, but he wasn't stopping now.

"I couldn't let her talk. You don't understand. If she _said_ something to me, they'd _know._ They'd know, and they'd probably kill her. So I grabbed her, Ange. I grabbed her, put my hand over her mouth, yanked her head back and started kissing her neck for the cameras. She fought me. She fought me so damn hard, but she was so weak..." The first tear finally fell from his eyes at that admission.

"Booth...hey, stop."

He couldn't. The words were leaving him in a rush. "And I overpowered her. I knew she wanted me to let her go, and I didn't. You don't know how much I hated myself for that. So I tried to tell her. I risked both of our necks to try to tell her _why_ I was doing it, and I thought she understood. I really thought she understood. So I...I pushed her over to the bed, thinking she knew what I was doing. All I could think about was keeping her alive. I didn't want to..."

"Booth...I'm serious. Stop." She was pulling frantically at his arm, and he shook her off, determined to finish it once and for all.

"That sound she made... that's when I realized she was scared. She was fucking _scared_ of me." Another tear fell on that point, his fist slamming into the ground beside his leg and making Angela jump. "I tried again to tell her what was going on, but it was too late. It was too late to stop what I had started. I just had to keep her alive. I pushed her down on the bed and started taking off the rest of my clothes. She wouldn't even look at me..."

"Oh my God."

Booth froze when he realized that particular exclamation had come from a very familiar voice...but not from Angela. Looking up, he looked right into the eyes of Max Keenan, standing next to a deer-in-the-headlights Sweets. They had walked up when he wasn't looking. So that was why Angela had been pulling on his arm.

For just a second, his heart stopped. He had no idea how much Max had heard, but he had come too far now to stop. Max was going to find out sooner or later, especially considering the fact that Brennan was no doubt pouring the entire tale out to her brother as they spoke. Why not cut out the middle man? Slowly, Booth pushed to his feet. He needed to stand, if only as a show of respect for the father of the woman he had hurt.

"Max, I swear to God...all I wanted to do was get her out alive." His eyes were glued on Max at that point, Sweets and Angela forgotten as he finished the rest of the tale for the man that, crazy as it might sound, he had at one point hoped might be his future father-in-law. It would have thrilled Parker to no end, even if it might have given Rebecca a stroke.

His voice was actually steadier as he talked to Max than it had been talking to Angela, though two more tears had slipped out of his eyes and were making their way down his cheeks.

"I was just going to try to make it look good. I started toward her on the bed - I hadn't even touched her yet, but she...she just lost it. She looked right through me and started screaming. She tried to get away, but I couldn't let her. I was too afraid they would kill her." The words continued tumbling out in a rush, desperation evident in his tone. "I had to hold her down - pin her down on the bed. She finally stopped screaming, and I - I pulled the covers over us and just..."

He had to look away from Max's eyes at that point. "I made it look like...I made it look like I raped her. But I'm not sure she..." He bit his lip, his voice cracking. "I'm not sure she understood why. I'm still not sure she knows."

"Booth!" Max held out a hand to stop him, his voice sharp.

Time stood at a standstill, three sets of eyes locked on Max. Booth stood with tears still staining his cheeks, staring at Max with a resigned look on his face now that his stream of words had finally been silenced. Angela had also risen to her feet and stood with her hands over her mouth, making no attempt to hide the terror in her eyes. Sweets was still deathly pale and looked like he was considering running.

The expression on Max's face was painful to see: concerned, heartbroken and livid all at the same time. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his jaw muscle working overtime.

"Mr. Keenan..." Sweets got no further into whatever he was going to say - which, in reality, was just fine with him because he wasn't sure what he was going to say anyway. Max stopped him easily with another swiftly uplifted hand, easily expressing the message that Sweets should be quiet.

Max's voice, when he finally did speak, was low and strained, full of warning. "I...I need a few minutes. Nobody follow me." The older man turned and shuffled quickly down the hallway, oblivious to the three sets of eyes burning into his back.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Unable to restrain his emotions anymore and seeking solitude, Booth started to walk away in the other direction to find a place to break down. He made it two steps before he was suddenly hit square in the chest with all 120 pounds of Angela Montenegro, who had launched herself at him and thrown her arms around his neck. "Seeley Booth, you listen to me. You did what you had to. I know that. Deep down, Brennan knows it too."

He cut her off instantly, not wanting to hear it but unable to extricate himself from her embrace without hurting her. "No, Ange. Why do you think she doesn't want me around? It's not just because she thinks I wanted to abandon her. What you saw on the plane - her jumping away from me - it wasn't the first time. She tried so hard not to be; she tried to just be rational about it - but deep down she's _afraid_ of me. She doesn't want me to touch her. You didn't hear what she said."

Angela had yet to release him. "What did she say, Booth? Tell me."

The hitch in his throat told her just exactly how much it was going to cost him to do that. "When I asked her… on the way to the airport I asked her if anybody - if anybody forced her." He stopped, unable to go on.

"What did she say, Booth?"

His voice was like sandpaper when he forced the words past his lips. "She said that no; nobody had but me."

Angela only squeezed him more tightly in response. "Booth, listen to me. You said it yourself - that she tried not to be afraid. She just needs some time. But I'm telling you that somewhere deep inside, she knows you would never hurt her _or_ leave her, and eventually she's going to remember that. Max even knows it. If he didn't, he'd have killed you on the spot."

A horrible, bitter bark of laughter escaped Booth's lips, threatening to turn into the sobs he was barely holding back. "That's supposed to be comforting? He's probably just going to get his gas can."

Angela pulled back and grasped his arms, making sure that he looked at her. "No. It's not comforting. It's terrible. It's _awful_. The whole thing is awful. But if you hadn't done what you did..."

"No!" The intensity of his own exclamation surprised him, and before he knew it he was voicing the horrible thoughts that he had not allowed to see the light of day, even in his worst moments of self-recrimination. His voice grew louder with every word as his rigid control finally snapped. "I did it all for _nothing._ In the middle of it - in the goddamn _middle_ of holding her down and pretending to _rape_ her - the gunfire started. My cover was blown before the damn door ever opened, and I just didn't know it. It was for _nothing._ It would have turned out the same if I never even touched her!"

He had lost any semblance of control. He wrenched himself away from Angela and began to pace as the totality of his pain continued to spill out, his arms gesturing wildly. "And do you know what the worst part is? The best part of this whole damn nightmare?"

Suddenly he was still, his eyes fixed on Angela with an intensity that almost frightened her. His growing agitation was evident in the rising tone of his voice, each word coming out louder than the last. He seemed not to care that Sweets or anybody else that wanted to could hear him. "I was finally going to tell her, Angela. You've known it for years, and you were right. I was going to tell her everything: that she's all I think about, that I've loved her and wanted her forever, that I wanted it _all_ with her - the house, the dog, the wedding, the babies, the goddamned white picket fence - but that I'd give up all the rest of it just to have _her,_ just exactly the way she is. But I destroyed all that, and for what? I ruined us for _NOTHING!"_

The final sentence was shouted in white hot anger, at the top of his lungs for the world to hear, at the same moment that he spun and violently slammed his fist into the wall.

All motion in the entire hallway had stopped, every person within earshot staring at them and frozen in place. The only visible movement came from the rapidly approaching security guards, summoned by the worker who had tried to remove Booth and Angela to the waiting room. The sound of a pin dropping could have been heard in the hallway, which was eerily quiet other than the one tiny sound that hit Booth with all the impact of an explosion.

In the midst of his shouting, Booth hadn't seen or heard Brennan's door opening. He hadn't seen Russ rushing through the doorway before freezing when he heard Booth's words; hadn't heard Brennan's exclamation of _"Russ, please!"_ from inside the room. In fact, the first clue he received that her door had ever even been open was when he heard the quiet click of it closing behind Russ, who stomped out into the hallway only a split second after Booth's fist crashed into the wall.

The two men's eyes met, and Booth saw it instantly in the other man's expression: Russ _knew._ Brennan had told him everything, he _knew,_ and he was more than a little pissed off.

Shaking off Angela and the shockingly silent Sweets, each of whom were halfheartedly attempting to stop him, Booth pointed his finger at Russ before storming off down the hallway and out of sight. "Just take care of her, Russ."

ooo … ooo … ooo

While Booth was pouring his heart out to Angela, just a few yards down the hallway Russ Brennan's sister was scaring him to death.

The whole situation had been making him uneasy since he had arrived at the hospital with his father. Something wasn't right. Something was off, and he couldn't put his finger on it. He had witnessed firsthand the bond between his sister and her extremely intimidating partner in the past. He knew that she told him everything, counted on him, and depended on him - whether she would admit it or not. He had even been on the receiving end of some kindnesses from the FBI agent, but he had never kidded himself who they were really meant for: Agent Booth would do anything for Russ's sister, even if it meant sticking his neck out for a felon that he would otherwise let rot in jail if that felon was anyone other than Temperance Brennan's brother.

He had suspected all along that the reason his father couldn't get in touch with Booth was because he was already wherever Tempe was. It had not come as a surprise that Booth was responsible for her being safely back in D.C., although he had been somewhat awed to learn that the man had gone all the way to Albania. Hearing a very brief version of the story from Tempe's own lips had increased his respect for her partner; but the way she had told it made his skin crawl and only ramped up the nagging feeling that something was wrong. His father had to sense it too, but he seemed content to blame it on the drugs and focus on the fact she was alive. Russ had tried to do the same.

But what he didn't understand and what he couldn't stop thinking about was why his sister's coworkers had acted so oddly. They had wanted quite desperately to get him and his father away from Booth. Even more concerning was why Temperance seemed so desperate to have Booth out of _her_ presence. And then there was the formal way she had referred to him. ' _Agent_ ' Booth? Since when did she refer to him as _Agent_ Booth?

When Sweets had approached them in the cafeteria and slipped him a note that Dr. Brennan had a question for him, while at the same time cornering Max and talking his ear off, Russ had been more than happy to have a chance to speak with his sister alone. But when she almost knocked him down the moment he set foot in her door, clinging to him and sobbing hysterically, it scared the life out of him. She was a different person than she had been when he left her all those years ago, and he generally accepted that. She was always controlled now, very rational and scientific. He sometimes missed the old Tempe, but he was still grateful for the second chance to know and love the new one. What, then, could have happened to her to cause her to be breaking down in his arms?

 _'Russ, I need your help. Please.'_

The desperation in her voice cut straight through him. She still had a death grip on his shoulders, and he needed to calm her down.

"Okay. Okay. I'm here, Tempe. It's all right. I'll help you with anything you need, okay?" And it was true. He _was_ there, and he _was_ willing to do whatever she asked of him. But the primary question on his mind was _.._. _why_ am _I_ the one that's here? It wasn't that he didn't want to be there for her. But he would have expected Booth to be the one standing in his place at that moment.

She had calmed down at his promise to help her. "Russ, I need you to go to my apartment and pack me a bag with some clothes and shoes. There's a big yellow book on the top shelf of my bookcase, third from the right. I need that book as well. Just put it in the bag underneath my clothes." She didn't mention that she had an emergency stash of cash hidden within the pages of that book.

If anything, Russ was more confused. She was crying in his arms begging for help because she wanted some clothes and a book? There had to be more to it than that.

"Okay. No problem, Tempe," he began carefully, prepared to humor her for that one task and then find out what was going on later. "You got your keys?"

Her eyes widened, and pure frustration washed over her face. "Actually...no. I don't have my keys, my passport, my ID, or my luggage. Everything is probably still in my room in Tirana."

For some reason he couldn't understand, she seemed to actually be more upset about the ID, passport and luggage than the fact that she was essentially locked out of her apartment.

She was getting upset again - nervous, it seemed - and he was quick to try to set her at ease again. "It's okay. I know where the extra key is inside your apartment from when I stayed with you before, and I can probably manage to get inside without one. I'll bring the spare key back to you when I come."

She appeared confused for a moment about how he would accomplish that, but then understanding dawned on her face. "How...oh. That's right. You're a criminal."

A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips, without a trace of the irritation that statement would have caused from anybody else's lips. It wouldn't be worth the effort to be irritated at her anyway...she would have no clue why the truth should upset him. A feeling of affection pulled the sides of his mouth a little higher.

"Thanks, sis. I love you too. You gonna be okay here til I get back?" At her nod, he gave her a quick hug and turned to go. "I think I'll see if your friend Angela wants to come with me. She can probably do a better job packing your clothes than I could."

"NO!"

She grabbed hold of his arm with more strength than he would have given her credit for, the same look in her eyes that he had seen when he entered. "You can't tell anybody where you're going or what you're doing, Russ. Not Dad, Angela, Booth... _nobody."_

"What?" Russ couldn't stop the completely bewildered expression that surfaced on his face. "Tempe, you've got to slow down and tell me what's going on. You didn't almost knock me down when I came in here because you need some clothes to wear and a book to read. Something's not right here, and I want you to tell me what it is."

Her eyes were pleading with him. "Russ, I _can't_ tell you. Please, just bring me the clothes and the money."

He caught the slip instantly. "Money? That's what's in the book? Why do you need money in the hospital?"

When she averted her eyes, he figured it out. "You're leaving. You're going to run."

She immediately became defensive. "You would know, wouldn't you, Russ?"

Anger flashed in his eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? We've been through this before. I made a mistake - a huge one - and you're about to make one too. I was 19 years old. What's your excuse?"

All of her carefully crafted and mentally rehearsed reasons she had planned to give Russ to get him to help her deserted her in that moment. Knowing that Booth had seen her breakdown through the window and that he had probably read her as always - that he had probably figured out that her tears were for him - had only served to fuel her urgency to slink away and hide. Her desperation to escape made her react like a wounded animal backed into a corner, lashing out at Russ viciously. "You of all people should understand, Russ. Why is it okay for everybody else in this family to do it, but not me? It worked well enough for you and Dad. Why won't you help me?"

He tried to grip her shoulders, only to have her furiously swat his hands away. "I'm trying to help you, Tempe, _because_ I understand it. I've _done_ it. That's why I know that it's the worst decision you could make. You can't run away from your problems. They'll just follow you. And no, it didn't work out that great for me _or_ Dad, in case you haven't noticed. And it sure as hell didn't work out for Mom, now did it?"

Something snapped in her eyes at that comment. This time when her weight hit him right in the chest, it was with her arms flailing and her closed fists pounding into his chest. "Damn you, Russ! How can you do this to me again?" She collapsed into him, sobbing, the flash of fury disappearing as soon as it had materialized. She was simply too exhausted to keep it up. "I have to get away." He could barely hear the words as she spoke into his chest, but he could feel her shaking. "You don't understand. And you're the only one I can turn to. _Please_ "

The significance of that wasn't lost on him, and it gave him pause. More than 15 years in the past, the last time he had a chance to be the one person she could depend upon, he had blown it in a truly epic fashion. It was something he had to live with every day, and if he was being given a second chance he didn't want to let her down again.

"Okay. Fine. I'm here this time, Tempe, and I'm going to help you. But not until you tell me exactly what's going on. Why do you need to get away from Booth so bad? And don't tell me this has nothing to do with Booth. If it didn't, it would be him you were asking to help you. What happened in Albania?"

For a few moments, she wouldn't meet her brother's eyes. But the urge to escape won out over the desire not to talk about it, and her decision was made.

"If I tell you, you can't say a word to Dad. Russ, you have to promise me. You won't say anything to Booth, and you won't say anything to Dad. You can't." Maybe Booth wanted to leave her, but she still didn't want him to be burnt on a rooftop for his trouble.

His sister's eyes were pleading with him, and Russ Brennan gave in. "Fine. But I have two conditions too: one, you tell me everything; two, you let me know where you're going and you keep in touch with me. If I don't hear from you every day, I'm calling Booth and telling him where you were last. You got it?"

He had never seen such a defeated look on her face. "I'm quite certain that he wouldn't care, Russ."

Russ had seen the look on Booth's face earlier when she had her flashback, and he was equally certain that he _would_ care. But there was no sense in upsetting her by telling her that. His tone was gentle as he squeezed her hand. "What happened, Tempe?"

Slowly, she sat down on the bed. Despite her best effort to control it, her voice was unsteady. "I don't know, Russ. I just know that he doesn't want to have anything to do with me anymore. He wasn't even coming back to D.C. with me if Angela hadn't coerced him. He didn't even want to be on the same plane with me."

She sounded so much like a lost little girl on that last statement that it squeezed at his heart, leaving him torn between the desire to deck Booth and the knowledge that what she was saying couldn't possibly be true. "What? That doesn't..."

"It's _true,_ Russ. I overheard them talking about it. Angela said he was 'hellbent' on sending me back alone and having her meet me at the airport."

"Tempe..." Russ was beginning to get a headache. "You must have misunderstood. Booth hasn't even gone to get anything to eat. He's in the hall with Angela right now, not even two doors down. I saw him when I came in. And why do you think he would be upset with you? He went all the way to _Albania_ to _get_ you."

She dropped his hand, her own twisting in her lap. "I'm not entirely certain why he became angry at me, but I think it might be because of my reactions to what he had to do to rescue me."

Russ was confused. "You mean the men he killed? He didn't seem all that torn up about that when Dad mentioned it. I'm pretty damn sure he thought it was worth it."

Her lip was trembling, and she wouldn't meet his eyes. "I'm talking about the other part. Russ, I..."

Tears began to fall from her eyes, and Russ's uneasiness skyrocketed.

Finally, in the presence of the brother she had shifted the focus of her trust to, the conclusions she had barely admitted to herself all came spilling out. "I didn't see them at first - I had been drugged, and I was experiencing withdrawal - but there were cameras when he found me. I have been unable to remember everything clearly, but I've concluded that Booth had to make them believe we were engaging in forced sexual intercourse for hire."

"What?" That was the last thing he had expected.

"I didn't understand at first why he was kissing me, and then undressing me and pushing me onto the bed, and I became fearful of him. I was fighting him, and the contact caused a completely unpreventable physical reaction.."

"What the HELL, Tempe?" Russ had risen to his feet and was leaning over her with an intensely angry look she had never seen on his face before.

"Something happened, Russ. I don't know what it was, but instead of Booth I saw the archaeologist who kidnapped me. I thought he was going to..."

A sob escaped her throat, but she pushed forward with the conclusion her tortured mind had reached - the only explanation she could come up with for Booth's abandonment of her. "He had taken his clothes off, and I thought he was going to rape me. I tried to fight him, and he had to restrain me to stop me from injuring him. It was only later that I realized it was Booth all along. I don't understand it, Russ, and I know it must make him angry after everything he did to find me...but when Booth comes near me now, I seem to be unable to stop my body from exhibiting fearful reaction. I realize that it is irrational, but I don't seem to be completely in control of my reactions. That is why I assume Booth became angry at me and wanted to get away from me, Russ - instead of being grateful that he rescued me, I've been treating him like a common criminal."

When she was done speaking, Russ was still leaning over her, his hands planted on either side of her and his angry eyes roving over her face. His breathing was shallow to the point that she feared he might hyperventilate. "Let me make sure I have this straight. You think Booth hates you because you got _upset_ that he attacked you?" His tone was calm and quiet in that deadly way that indicates utter fury. "Well we're going to find out right fucking now, because I'm going out there and I'm going to ask him."

"Russ, no!" She jumped up and grabbed his arm, and he angrily shook her off.

"You stay here, Tempe! Don't you dare tell me not to say anything to him!"

He jerked the door open, and barely heard his sister's exclamation: "Russ, _please!"_

What drowned her out was the shouting taking place in the hallway.

 _"...that I've loved her and wanted her forever, that I wanted it all with her - the house, the dog, the wedding, the babies, the goddamned white picket fence - but that I'd give up all the rest of it just to have her, just exactly the way she is. But I destroyed all that, and for what? I ruined us for NOTHING!"_

Russ had frozen in the doorway to listen, watching as the man he had been on his way to confront slammed his fist into the wall violently. Suddenly realizing that his sister could hear every word also through the open door, Russ stepped out of the doorway and allowed the door to close behind him with a small click.

Almost immediately, his eyes were locked with the man that had been the sole source of his anger only moments before. The words that he had overheard left him frozen in place, suddenly not so sure of what to believe.

He suddenly realized that Booth's finger was pointed right at him. "Just take care of her, Russ."

Before he could even react, Booth stormed off down the hallway in the opposite direction, passing the security guards who arrived only moments later to break up the scene in the hall and disperse everyone to the waiting areas.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Stopping Russ from going out to confront Booth had seemed so vitally important, Brennan would have never believed anything could make her forget about it instantly. But that was before the door opened, and a very, very familiar voice rang out loud and clear from very close by.

 _"...that I've loved her and wanted her forever, that I wanted it all with her - the house, the dog, the wedding, the babies, the goddamned white picket fence - but that I'd give up all the rest just to have her, just exactly the way she is. But I destroyed all that, and for what? I ruined us for NOTHING!"_

A loud crash, the soft _snick_ of the door closing, and then she was alone in her room and bathed in a silence that was anything but calm - a silence that was breathtakingly still and deafeningly loud all at the same time, punctuated only by the almost audible pounding of her heart.

Booth. Loved someone. Had wanted that someone 'forever'. Had wanted it _all_ with her - _wanted; past tense; implying either that he no longer did, or...or that something had ruined it for him._

Did he...could he mean...was she the 'her' he was talking about? Impossibly, her heart rate quickened.

And then her eyes grew wide in horror.

Or was she the NOTHING that he ruined it for?

Frantically, she tried to force her mind to work rationally - to analyze all of the evidence. She needed an immediate answer to that question with a desperation that was frightening.

She had spent enough time with him to be able to hear how angry his voice was, even from inside her room. In fact, he had never sounded more furious. A cold, sick feeling started in her belly and began radiating outward, spreading through her.

Booth in a relationship…the thought hurt more than she could have possibly imagined, but she had to face the fact that it could be true. He had never liked to talk about sexual intercourse or the relationships in which he engaged in that particular activity. It was entirely possible that he, in fact, _was_ in a relationship that he simply had not chosen to share with her. It was also entirely possible that, if he was in a relationship, his trip to Albania on her behalf could have ruined things for him.

Ruined it for _nothing…_

And he had, after all, decided to leave her and not return on the plane with her. Had that been the reason why? Had she become a point of contention between him and his romantic partner and ruined something for him? That could certainly explain his anger toward her. Plus, she was hardly an expert in relationships, but she would think that if she were the one he loved, being on the plane with her would have been desirable rather than dreadful.

Suddenly, the cold, sick feeling gave way to something far worse: gut-clenching, totally trapped, pure claustrophobic terror, as her desire to flee kicked into overdrive. Her eyes were glued to the door as her breathing increased, every muscle in her body jumping at the fear that the door would open and he would be standing there, forcing her to face the anger in his eyes.

That thought propelled her into action. Breathing hard, she ripped every monitoring device from her body, disconnecting the IV right along with them. Adrenaline gave extra speed to her feet as they pounded their way across the room at a dead run, right into the bathroom that was just inside the door of her room. She wasn't even aware of slamming it shut and throwing herself back against it to block it; she just heard the loud slam and felt the coolness of the door as her back hit it. Turning frantically, she locked the door before sliding down to the floor leaning against it, trying to control her breathing.

Gripping her knees, she tried to calm down. It was all too much: her kidnapping; what Booth had done, and her own reactions to it; his wanting to leave; and now this? There were more contradictions than she could process, more emotions than she could unravel, more confusion and hurt than she could bear.

And so she didn't try. Because she was leaving anyway, and it just didn't matter. There were only two possible conclusions: Booth had loved her, but he no longer did; or, Booth loved someone else, and hated her because she had ruined it for him. Eyes squeezed shut, she just tried to forget it all: forget how much it hurt to think that he might regret ever having come to find her at all; forget how much she had suddenly realized she _hated_ the idea of him being in a relationship; forget how her heartrate had quickened for the brief moment she had thought he might have been saying he loved _her;_ forget that it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because she had to struggle not to flinch every time he got close.

ooo … ooo … ooo

In the end, Booth couldn't do it. He couldn't get in his truck and leave her there at the hospital without him.

He tried. He stormed right down the hallway, out of the door of the hospital, and right up to his truck; he even got as far as jerking the door open, climbing in and slamming the door viciously behind him, and jamming his keys in the ignition. And then his hand froze in place on the key, refusing to do his bidding and just crank the truck.

He was furious in a way that he could not ever remember being. But not one ounce of that anger was her fault or even directed at her. Not one. And if even part of her still cared, she would be the one to get hurt if he left.

Even the knowledge that Max and Russ were probably both going to be looking for him couldn't bring him to actually turn the ignition and drive away when he thought about it that way.

Brennan's belief that his intention had been to abandon her was at least half of the barrier between them, he knew, even after everything else that had happened. And some part of what Angela said had registered with him. He didn't believe for a moment that Angela was right, but if there was even a small chance that she was, and that he had some hope for forgiveness from Bones, he wasn't about to sabotage himself any further if he could help it.

His heart pounded a little faster when he watched through the window as Russ emerged from the hospital doors and then disappeared into a nearby vehicle, peeling out of the parking lot with tires screeching. He briefly wondered where Russ could be going, but then quickly decided he didn't really care.

Still staring out of his passenger window in the direction Russ had gone, he almost jumped out of his skin when somebody knocked on the driver's side window, right by his head.

"Booth! Let me in!"

He really didn't want to, but he hit the unlock button anyway and watched as Cam walked around to the passenger side and climbed in, studying him intently.

"What do you want, Camille?" His tone was flat, almost petulant, conveying that he had reached his limit and didn't welcome her presence or anyone else's.

"What are you doing out here, Seeley? It's freezing in here."

He only wore his t-shirt and jeans, but he hadn't noticed the cold. Wordlessly, he turned on the ignition and motioned for her to do whatever she wanted with the heat. She made no move to do so, and so he finally sighed and spoke, hoping he could avoid having to go through the whole story again. "How did you even find me?"

"It wasn't hard, Seeley. You almost ran me over, right after you bulldozed your way through the front door. I called your name and you didn't even hear me. What's going on?"

He deflected, not up to going through the whole story all over again. "Thought you quit smoking, Camille." His tone was still flat, clearly expressing that he didn't really care but he knew exactly why she was standing outside.

"Yeah, well, _you_ had the easy part. You try dealing with this group when Dr. Brennan's missing, and then throw Max into the mix. You'd smoke too."

It had been intended to lighten the mood, but it had the opposite effect. She didn't miss how much darker his expression grew, and her own tone grew more serious in answer. "Okay. What's going on, Seeley? Something's wrong, and I've known it since I got here. Why is everybody acting even more strangely than usual? What exactly happened over there?"

A bitter sound escaped his lips. "I don't want to talk about it, Camille. You can go get all the gory details from Angela. She's probably taken out a front page ad by now. Or you could just ask Sweets, but he's probably halfway through writing his next book. Or better yet, ask Max. Or Russ."

She was still watching him intently, wondering what was causing the bitterness. His face was definitely just made to smile; she had always hated to see him this way, without one. Suddenly, a horrifying thought hit her. "Oh my God. You did it, didn't you?"

His eyes really focused on her for the first time. "Come again?"

"You took my advice, and it went bad. You told her, right? And she rejected you?"

He shook his head, surprised by the entirely humorless laughter that came out of his mouth, a somewhat unhinged sound. "Yeah. Yeah, I told her, all right. Somewhere in between making her think I was trying to rape her and accidentally convincing her that I hate her, I managed to slip that little tidbit of information in while she was flat on her back unconscious. And right now she won't even look at me, so yeah, I guess you could say that."

For once, Cam was speechless. Her eyebrows were almost sitting on top of her skull, and her mouth hung slightly open. She was still trying to force speech past her lips when someone else began pounding on the window of Booth's car, none too gently.

"Booth! Open the goddamn door!"

His day was just getting better and better.

Max had found him.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Sweets had dutifully returned to the waiting area, placating the guards who had arrived moments after Booth's abrupt departure. Angela had clearly wanted to go straight into Brennan's room without him, and he was fine with that. The situation was so much more complex than anything he had ever dealt with before, and despite his extensive training he was slightly daunted by the task before him. Taking a deep breath, he began to gather his thoughts for what he would say when he spoke to either of them.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"Bren? Brennan!"

Angela almost panicked at the sight of the empty room before her. She stood stock still at the sight of Brennan's heart and respiration monitors carelessly thrown to the floor along with the IV line.

 _'She's gone!'_ It was the one thought that flooded through her shocked mind, taking her breath away.

She almost jumped out of her skin when the nurse - whom she had not seen enter the room just behind her - began pounding on the bathroom door.

"Ms. Brennan? Ms. Brennan!"

"It's _Dr._ Brennan," Angela corrected automatically, absently wondering when she had begun channeling her friend.

"Unlock the door, Dr. Brennan."

"I'm fine!" came the infuriating response from inside the bathroom - infuriating, and yet somehow a great relief at the same time.

The nurse never even had a chance. Angela was faster and knew her friend better, stepping up and calling through the door before the nurse could utter a syllable. "Right. You're fine. That's why you ripped off your monitors and hid in the bathroom like the hounds of hell were after you. Open the door, Brennan. Right now."

"No. I got sick, Angela. That's all. I'll be fine," Brennan lied, trying to get Angela to leave her alone. If she came out, she might have to face Booth and she wasn't ready for that - not after what she had heard, regardless of which way he meant it.

Angela wanted to let her friend know that she _knew_ about what had happened between them in Albania - that she understood. "If you're sick, it's because you know what Booth just told me. Believe me, I'm sick about it too, Sweetie. Just open the door and _talk_ to me, Brennan. You guys are gonna get through this. It's going to be okay, I promise."

Angela's words hit Brennan like a truck. Suddenly, it was no longer a lie that she felt sick. Angela's response seemed to answer the question of which conclusion about Booth's words was the correct one. If it upset Angela - if it made her _sick_ \- that could only mean that she hadn't been the one he had been talking about when he said he had loved and wanted someone forever.

That left only one conclusion: Booth had someone else, she had ruined it for him, and he hated her for it.

It shouldn't have mattered so much, she mused, when she could barely be in the same room with him without being tormented by the urge to run, and without having to fight flashbacks of him attacking her.

And yet somehow, she realized, she had hoped for the opposite; she had found the other alternative to be the more preferable one.

"Dr. Brennan! I need you to come out so I can reattach your monitors and IV. You don't need to be in there with the door locked!" The renewed sound of knocking and the nurse's voice encroached on her troubled thoughts, pulling her back to reality. Certainly no escape could be made through the bathroom; she would have to come out either way. And if she was correct that Booth was furious at her for coming between him and the woman he wished to marry - _and why did that hurt so much?_ \- then her fears that he would appear in her doorway were clearly quite unfounded. He wouldn't be darkening her door again anytime soon, if ever.

Struggling to understand what was the most hollow, empty feeling she had ever experienced, Brennan steeled herself and reemerged to submit herself to the nurse's ministrations and Angela's pity. She would endure it only as long as she had to: her decision to leave town at the first opportunity had just been sealed.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Satisfied that Brennan was unharmed physically, and not knowing her well enough to see through her explanation of running to the bathroom in a fit of illness, the nurse reattached everything and left with only a mild reprimand for Brennan not to repeat her actions.

For once, Angela seemed unsure of how to approach the situation. What Booth had described to her was horrifying. She fancied herself an expert on relationships, but a situation like this was way out of her league. She was beginning to wish she had brought Sweets along with her after all. At least he was trained to deal with emotional trauma. Finally, she decided that honesty was always a good place to start, and she reached out and grasped her friend's hand.

"Sweetie. I can't even imagine what you must be feeling right now. I am so sorry."

She was somewhat surprised to see how quickly real tears welled up in Brennan's eyes at those simple words. Her own honesty, however, must have elicited the same response in Brennan, because suddenly her friend was speaking to her without the protection of cold, rational science.

"Angela, I know you want to talk about this. But I can't do that right now. Please just go home and let me get some sleep. I'll talk to you about it when you come to take me home tomorrow." The tears were completely real, even if she had no intention of being there for Angela to pick up the next day. For Brennan, who had no idea what Booth had told Angela other than the small, ambiguous portion she had heard, she was truly terrified at the prospect that Angela wanted to discuss Booth's girlfriend. Although she would have been hard pressed to explain why, even the word sent an uncomfortable twinge through her. Angela would no doubt wish to discuss it in great detail, and the discomfort she felt over it was far too fresh. She would not be able to conceal it.

Maybe it was the tears. Maybe it was the sincere tone of Brennan's voice, edged with pain. Maybe it was just sympathy for all she had gone through. But whatever it was, Angela believed her and didn't push. Hearing Booth's story had given her some extra understanding for Brennan's reactions. "It's okay. I know it's hard to talk about." She hesitated a moment, and then: "But Bren, maybe you should let Sweets come talk to you. He might be able to help you."

The idea was a horrifying one: talk to Sweets about why she couldn't control her emotions about Booth wanting to marry someone else, when she certainly didn't believe in marriage or monogamy anyway and could barely bear to be in the same room with him?

"No! Ange, I can't talk to him about this - do not send him in here!" Her desperation was evident, and Angela again mistook it. Of course Brennan didn't want to speak with Sweets. Angela was even pretty sure now why Brennan had wanted Booth and Sweets out of the room earlier so very badly. They were male.

"Okay. I'm sorry, Sweetie. Calm down. I'll let him know not to come in. Do you want me to stay?"

Brennan shook her head. "I'll be more comfortable alone right now. I'm just going to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

Angela leaned down to hug her. "It's going to be okay, Brennan. We're all going to get through this. You'll see."

When the door closed, leaving her alone again, Brennan wasn't so sure.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth wasn't even surprised as he hit the unlock button again with a heavy sigh. It had been inevitable. "Time for you to go, Cam. I've got nothing else to say, so just go talk to Angela. She'll fill in the details for you."

Cam's door popped open, revealing an angry looking Max standing there and wanting her to leave. "You're in my seat, Dr. Saroyan. This is between me and Booth."

"Seeley?" At Booth's nod, Cam reluctantly vacated the vehicle, her eyes worried. "I'll just be right over there." That part she directed at Max, her voice filled with a hint of warning that she would be watching.

ooo … ooo … ooo

The sound of the door slamming behind Max when he climbed into the passenger seat sounded like the crack of doom.

Booth's eyes quickly flicked over him, noting his empty hands and tense look. "What's the matter, Max? Couldn't find a gas station open this time of night?" His own wry bitterness surprised him.

"Shut the hell up, Booth. I've got something to say, and you're going to listen."

Booth did nothing but wait; no response was really required.

Max's eyes were hard. "First, I want you to answer some questions for me."

With a sigh, Booth nodded, closing his eyes. Whatever questions Max had, they promised to be painfully uncomfortable.

And Max, of course, delivered on that promise with his first offering.

"Was there any other way? Is there any other way you could have rescued my daughter?"

The question cut Booth to the core. He had forgotten that Max had already stormed off by the time he got around to telling Angela that he was pretty sure he had done the whole thing for nothing. Saying it once had almost killed him. Saying it a second time just might finish the job.

"I didn't think so at the time. But yeah. I know now that maybe there was. I couldn't have known it at the time." His eyes had stayed shut during his answer, so he couldn't see Max's reaction.

"Did you do _anything_ to take advantage of that situation?"

Booth's eyes finally popped open and really focused on his partner's father. The completely honest reaction spilled out of his throat with no thought whatsoever, his expression clearly showing just how much that idea horrified him. "No! God, Max, no. I would never - I love her too much to ever..."

He shut his mouth abruptly when he realized two things about what he had just said. First was that he had been about to say he loved her too much to ever hurt her; the absurdity of that made him want to cringe, knowing that he had, in fact, hurt her deeply - twice. The second realization was that he had just laid down his entire hand to Max.

Why could he suddenly not stop declaring his love for her to anyone that would listen, especially now that he had no chance with her? After the first time the words came out of his mouth, it had become like a snowball rolling downhill: it just kept getting bigger and he couldn't stop it anymore. But why, of all people, did the newfound disconnect between his brain and mouth have to manifest itself to _Max?_

"What did you say?" Yeah, Max had caught it. Of course he had. _'Damn.'_

To say that Booth tried to backpedal would be an understatement. "I said I would never take advantage of her."

"You said you love her."

Max's statement hung thickly between them, seeming to suck all the air out of the vehicle.

After several long moments, Max finally spoke again. Although his words still sounded threatening, it was as though the entire tone of the conversation had changed. "You've got a kid, Booth. What would you do in my place right now?"

The response was automatic. "Anybody hurts Parker, I go after them. He's my son."

"And did you hurt my daughter?"

Again, the question ripped into Booth, laying him open. "Not on purpose. But yeah. We both know I did."

Max seemed to consider that for a moment. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

That one wasn't quite so easy or so black and white. Was Max _kidding?_ How was he supposed to respond to that? All that was springing to mind was _'Because I'd rather gouge my own eyes out,'_ but that was probably the wrong answer. Booth floundered helplessly, until Max took some pity on him and raised a dismissive hand, slightly shaking his head as though to tell him not to bother answering that. Apparently even he had realized the complete absurdity of that question.

"You saved her life, Booth, and I haven't forgotten that. And I know you have feelings for her. If you say there was no other way to bring her back, I'm going to trust you for now, for her sake. But I promise you right now...if I ever find out that you did anything to intentionally hurt my little girl, your body is one that the FBI will never find. Are we clear?"

Booth felt at least a portion of the heavy burden he had been carrying leave him at that point, tense muscles relaxing somewhat. His next words were sincere, from one father to another, as he looked the older man straight in the eye. "I don't want to hurt her, Max. I never did."

Max was studying him carefully, almost as though trying to decide whether to share something with him. "You know, the first time I met you, I told Temperance that if she found somebody she could trust, she should hold onto them. I had a feeling about you even then. I may be an old man, Booth, and past my prime; but I can still see the way you look at my daughter."

There was no point in denying what was obviously so blatantly transparent, but also no point in building up the older man's hopes - or his own. "She doesn't feel the same way, Max."

Max was looking at him knowingly. "Maybe she doesn't want to admit it, even to herself. But I've seen the way she looks at you, too." His face grew softer. "I recognized it the minute I saw it. It's the same way her mother used to look when she would look at me." A wistful smile crossed his lips, making it all the way into his voice as it always did at any reference to his daughter and late wife. "You know, she's so much like her mother."

Booth sighed, wondering exactly what form of mental delusion was driving him to even consider having this discussion with Max. "You're wrong. She'll never trust me again. After what I did..."

The older man cut him off, clapping him on the arm with a serious look. "Never's a long time, Booth. It's a very long time."

For a long moment Max still sat looking at Booth, nodding to himself as though his decision was made. "In the meantime, let's go back inside. Temperance needs you."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

After leaving Brennan's room, Angela made her way back to where Sweets sat. He rose as though to make his way to Brennan's room himself, but Angela stopped him with an upraised hand. "She's going to sleep now."

He sank back into his seat with a nod, but it was clear that he was eager to talk to his usually unwilling patient. "How is she doing?" His voice was filled with concern.

Angela sighed as she dropped into the chair next to him. "Not good, Sweets. She doesn't want to talk about any of it, and she completely _freaked_ out when I suggested you coming in and talking to her. She's terrified of talking to you _or_ Booth, and you saw her try to get rid of Max and Russ. What do you think that means?"

Sweets brow was furrowed as he thought out loud. "Well ...it's not uncommon for female victims of sexual assault to be uncomfortable in the presence of males, even those with whom they are familiar. Many times, that familiarity can even..."

Angela was quick to cut him off, her voice defensive. "But she _wasn't_ a victim of a sexual assault. Booth _saved_ her."

He nodded slowly, considering. The reaction Angela described seemed more intense than he would have expected, too, especially to the idea of him coming in to talk to her. She had seemed more irritated by his presence earlier than frightened, when she had kicked out everyone but him and Angela. "She knows that _now_. But Booth told Max that he didn't think she knew _why_ he did what he did. If that's true, she may have fully believed at the time that she _was_ being victimized by Booth, possibly even about to be raped by him."

Angela looked disgusted. "God, don't say it like that. It's just _wrong._ It's _Booth_. He would never do anything like that."

Sweets was nodding vehemently. "Exactly. Dr. Brennan would almost certainly agree with that statement. That fact - her confidence in his character - would only cause the event to be even more traumatic. You know that she doesn't hand out trust readily. It would have been the ultimate betrayal, at least from her point of view. Plus, we have the benefit of knowing what happened _after_ the fact. Dr. Brennan quite literally lived through it."

Angela shifted in her chair to face him more fully. "Booth said that when he had to, you know...that right before she started screaming and fighting him, she 'looked right through him.' I know what he means. That's exactly how she looked when she flipped out on the doctor earlier today. Do you think when it happened that she even knew it was Booth?"

Sweets shrugged. "The only one who can answer that is Dr. Brennan. And until she's willing to talk about it..."

He trailed off, and Angela nodded in understanding.

"If you're going home with her, Angela, there are some things you should know - some techniques to help her cope if she has another flashback like what you saw earlier."

"Anything I can do, Sweets. I'll do anything."

He nodded, and spent the next half hour telling her what she could expect, as Angela became more nervous with each passing second.

ooo … ooo … ooo

When midnight arrived, all was quiet in the hospital. Brennan, so far as everyone knew, slept alone in her room. When Booth and Max had come back into the hospital, after Max bought him a hot meal Booth had resumed his place in his miserable chair, still not certain that approaching Bones was the best idea. Other than when she screamed his name in flashback, he hadn't gone near her since the first time he left her room, which was also when he had promised to give her time and to stay outside until she called for him - a promise he was beginning to regret. It was the hardest thing he ever did, but he planted himself back in the chair and stayed put.

Cam had long since gone home for the night, and Hodgins and Booth had finally convinced Angela to let Hodgins take her home so she could get some rest before picking up her friend the next day. Sweets was in the chair next to Booth, snoring loudly with his head back against the wall, and Booth made a mental note to be nicer to the young doctor who didn't seem to have ever considered leaving his side. Russ had yet to reappear, and even Max had gone for the night after calling for a cab and promising to be back in the morning.

Booth wanted to stay awake and keep his eye on her room. He wanted that more than anything. His body, on the other hand, had different ideas. He made several trips to look in her window, relieved to see that she seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but eventually he always returned to his chair. Despite his best efforts, his head lolled, his eyes slowly drifted shut, and he fell into a light sleep with his every thought still on her.

ooo … ooo … ooo

At 2:00 am, Russ Brennan sneaked back into the hospital, past his sister's sleeping partner, and into her room, carefully avoiding being seen by the nurses. Knowing what he was about to do gave him a twinge of guilt when he saw the devoted man who had refused to leave his sister's side, but his first priority was going to have to be his sister. After what she had told him, he was still more than a little pissed off. Try as he might to give Booth the benefit of the doubt, he could not envision a scenario where kissing, undressing and holding her down could have been necessary for her rescue. And then there was the _other_ thing she had said about what she felt when Booth got on top of her.

Anger had shot through Russ from the top of his head to the ends of his toes when she said that, and the effect still lingered. They might be full grown adults, but she was still his baby sister. She could and would kick his ass from one side of D.C. to the other if he said that out loud, but that didn't change the fact that it was true.

As a rule, Russ Brennan had now generally come around to the idea that running was a bad idea; but after hearing her version of the story, he certainly couldn't blame her for wanting to run. The only thing that had stopped him from crashing his fist into the FBI agent's jaw after talking to his sister was the words he had heard when he stepped into the hallway...the man had made it very clear what his feelings and intentions were, without even knowing Russ was there. Booth wanted marriage, family, kids - and he wanted it with Temperance Brennan. That certainly didn't sound like a man who would have taken advantage of her physically when she was at her most helpless. It had frozen Russ long enough to let Booth get away, and he had thought of little else in all the hours he had been gone.

Despite the late hour, Brennan's head turned toward the door instantly when Russ entered, her eyes wide and awake. "Russ. I was starting to think you weren't coming back."

She had lain awake thinking the entire time, having had many hours of sleep on the plane. She was still fearful that if she slept she would have more revealing nightmares; the last thing she wanted to do was cry out for Booth. Just thinking about the times she had clung to him and the way she had screamed his name for everybody to hear still caused a humiliated flush to rise in her cheeks. She was exhausted, but she would sleep when she got where she was going.

Russ held a bag that she recognized as an extra overnight bag she kept in her apartment, and it was stuffed to the gills. With a loud thud, it plopped suddenly onto the bed beside her leg. "I almost didn't. I'm doing this under protest, Tempe. I still don't think it's a good idea. Can't you at least wait until you're discharged?"

"It's easier this way. I just need time to..."

"Be able to pretend nothing happened. I know." He hesitated for just a moment, wondering if he should bring it up. "You know, Booth is still out there. I know you heard what he said earlier. Maybe you should try to talk to him. I don't want you to make a mistake, Sis."

Desperation shot through her. Booth was still there? _What_ was he still doing there? And _why?_ Couldn't he just go home and leave her to her humiliation and solitude? Not to mention that sneaking past him to get out of the hospital would be problematic at best. And why was Russ on _his_ side?

"There's nothing to say, Russ. I don't want to talk about what he said."

"Temperance..."

In an attempt to deflect Russ from the topic of Booth, she began looking through her bag and cut him off. "Russ...what's all this?"

The look on his face told her that she wasn't going to like what he was about to say. "Sorry about that. I could only find one bag in your apartment. My stuff is in there too."

Her eyes were growing wider by the moment. "Your stuff?"

Russ crossed his arms around his chest. His sister may have been the queen of stubbornness, but she had obviously forgotten that it was a Brennan family trademark. "That's right. I'm coming with you."

"What?" Brennan almost exploded. "I don't need a babysitter!. I'll be fine. Here, take your things."

"Uh-uh. Tempe, just a few hours ago, you were screaming and holding a pair of scissors on the doctor. I understand if you don't want Booth's help right now, but you don't need to be alone. If I help you leave and something happens to you, I'd never forgive myself and neither would Dad. If you've got to get out of here, I can respect that. I'd be a hypocrite to try to stop you. But until I know you're all right, you're stuck with me."

"You can't just...you have a job, Russ. You have a family."

He didn't budge. "I'm taking the week off. Oh, and Amy and the girls said to tell you they love you and hope you feel better soon."

Brennan was almost sputtering she was so furious. "Russ, I - you can't - how can you afford to take a week off? You can't afford that. And how are you going to pay for your part of the trip?"

Russ just shook his head in amazement. Pay for his part of the trip? Jeez. _'Only Tempe...'_ He seemed to have that thought a lot around her. "You're right. I can't. But you're my sister, and you need my help right now, so I'll work something out." One side of his mouth jerked up in a wry smile. "You don't know any rich, best-selling authors that could float me a loan, do you?"

Brennan was shaking her head incredulously. This wasn't what she wanted. She needed to be _alone_. For someone who had spent the last 15 years alone, mostly so that nobody could get close enough to hurt her by _leaving_ her alone, suddenly she couldn't manage a few minutes of isolation to save her life.

"What do you say, Tempe? That's the deal. I go with you, or that bag goes back with me and you stay here."

She considered it. Russ had taken a week off. That meant she wouldn't be able to get away from him for at least that long. If she let Angela take her home the next day, she would be stuck with her for a few days, having to endure her desire to talk about everything. But when she convinced Angela she was all right she could send her home, and then she could leave on her own terms. She might even be able to do it in such a way that nobody would come after her. After all she had been through, she could wait two more days.

"You're right, Russ."

"Huh?"

"I said you're right, Russ."

"That's what I thought. Now I know you're too unstable to be left alone."

She actually almost smiled at that. "Maybe I should wait until I'm discharged, and go home for a few days."

Russ nodded slowly, somewhat surprised at her sudden turn-on-a-dime change of heart. "I think that's the right decision."

He sat and talked with her a few more minutes, trying to be sure that she was sincere. When she yawned, he took the hint and took his leave. "Why don't you try to get some sleep, sis?"

She agreed, and with a quick peck on her cheek he then turned to go, taking the bag with him.

ooo … ooo … ooo

When morning broke on the hospital, it again became a bustling, busy place, with no small amount of visitors for Brennan. She managed to make her own special version of small talk - which in no way resembled normal small talk - with Cam, Hodgins, Sweets and her family, leaving her even more drained than social interaction usually left her. True to his word, Booth never entered the room. He had expected Russ to approach him, but instead Russ had avoided him like the plague.

In the early afternoon, Brennan was finally discharged, after receiving no small amount of after-care instructions to follow. She listened politely, having no intention of following any of them: least of all the recommendation for counseling for PTSD.

After initially protesting the hospital policy and claiming that she could walk perfectly well, she finally allowed herself to be placed in a wheelchair and rolled to Angela's car. Angela alone was going home with her. Brennan had been surprised how readily Angela had agreed to help fend off everyone else in order to make that happen. The artist had managed to clear Brennan's room of everyone but herself, over an hour before Brennan was finally released.

The most difficult moment came when they passed Booth in the hallway.

As soon as Brennan was rolled out of the room and into the hallway, Angela at her side, Booth pushed nervously to his feet. Everything about him indicated nervousness: the anxious bob of his throat as he swallowed, the hands that couldn't find a place to be still, the hitch in his breathing that they could literally _see_ from yards away.

Angela's eyes were filled with sympathy for him as they approached, but he never noticed. His gaze was locked on his partner. Had she heard his none-too-quiet admission of love for her yesterday? Had she heard him say, for all intents and purposes, that he wanted to marry her and build a life with her? If she had, all of his cards were on the table. What was she thinking? Would she speak to him?

For one long moment, her eyes locked with his. Neither noticed when Angela touched the orderly's arm and indicated for him to stop pushing the chair for a moment. The only thing either saw was the other's eyes. The inexplicable sadness that Booth saw in hers almost took his breath away, and he found himself again fighting the urge not to approach her.

"Bones?" he ventured, heart pounding.

For one moment, he thought she would answer - thought he saw a sheen of tears glisten in her eyes. Then she dropped her gaze and turned her face away. "Let's go, Angela," she murmured.

With one last sad glance at Booth, Angela complied. "Okay, sweetie. We're going."

ooo … ooo … ooo

His apartment had never seemed so empty. In the moments after Brennan was wheeled out of the hospital, Booth had not known what to do with himself for a few moments. He had even sunk back into that torturous chair and stayed for long minutes, trying to decide what to do next. She had been his entire focus ever since she left on that damn plane, and now that it was over he was at a bit of a loss. Finally, his sore, stiff back got his full attention, and he made his way outside. The bright, cheery afternoon sun seemed to mock him, and nothing looked the same to him as it normally did.

Almost in a daze, he made his way to his truck and got in. He remembered nothing of the drive back to his apartment, parking his truck, or making his way in. One moment, he had been climbing into his truck, and the next he was in his shower, forehead pressed against the cold shower wall as the hot water pounded into his sore, stiff muscles.

He stayed there, afraid to move for fear of breaking completely down, as the water changed from hot to tepid, tepid to cool, and cool to ice cold. Finally staggering from the shower, he put on the first clothes he could find and stumbled to his couch, utterly exhausted. The couch was going to have to suffice, stiff back or not. He was going nowhere near his bed right then. It would almost feel like a crime scene, considering how many X-rated fantasies of her he had entertained there. The top two activities that occurred in his bed: sleeping, and fantasizing about his partner. No, he would not sleep in his bed that day. Maybe not again ever. Too many memories that now felt dirty. It was only when he sank into his couch that he remembered there had been no shortage of the same activity there. _'Damnit.'_

That image, however, was soon replaced by another one: the image of her being wheeled past him and refusing to speak to him as she left the hospital. It hurt just as much to relive it the second time as it had when he experienced it firsthand. He didn't know what to make of it.

If she had heard what he said yesterday, that reaction was an answer all by itself. And she had to have heard him. _Everybody_ had heard him. People in the goddamn parking lot had probably heard him.

In a flash, he saw how the future was sure to unfold before him. She would compartmentalize everything. She would show back up at work, walls firmly in place, daring anybody to try to get close. She would, of course, insist upon still working with him, utterly convinced that their professional careers didn't have to change just because he had allowed the chemical reactions of dopamine and nor-epi-what-the-fuck-ever to make him believe he was in love with her. She would rationalize his broken heart right out of sight, out of mind, and they would have a purely professional relationship - no touching, no friendship, no diner, no drinks, no goddamn acknowledgement whatsoever of what it would do to him to be around her like that.

Suddenly, he could take no more. If he couldn't even sleep in his own bed alone without it hurting too much to think of her, what made him think he could work with her? In a moment of pure weakness, he shot to his feet and began looking for his phone.

When he found it, he dialed a number that he had only ever dialed once before. It was an impulsive, gut reaction to how much he was hurting, but he fully intended to get in touch with Naji and _make_ him give him a damn job. A woman picked up on the second ring - the same woman he had spoken with the first time he called, he was almost certain. As he had done before, he gave his name and waited for her to initiate the code phrase.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Booth. That code phrase has expired. Do you have another?"

Fresh waves of betrayal washed over him. Naji too? "Listen, I know he's there. Just put him on the damn phone. I know you know who I am." He was almost growling and he knew it, but he could do nothing to control it.

"Again, I'm sorry." Her voice was so sincere that he wondered if she knew the whole story. He almost suspected she did. "But without a code phrase, I can't connect you with him."

He almost threw the phone across the room when he disconnected. Calling Naji had been little more than a gut reaction, and one he probably wouldn't have followed through with anyway. But just knowing that he no longer had that friend to turn to for backup was painful, even if part of him understood why Naji had done it. Never had he felt so completely alone.

It was a long, long time before he was finally able to fall asleep.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Many hours later, Booth was awakened by the sound of his phone. A quick glance at his clock told him it was the middle of the night. He had been asleep for more than 10 hours. His heart almost pounded right out of his chest when he saw that the call was from her home number.

"Bones?" he answered without thinking, holding his breath in anticipation of hearing her voice.

"Get over here. Right now." Angela sounded slightly panicked, and that panic transferred to him immediately.

He was already grabbing for his keys and striding for the door. "I'm on my way. What's wrong? Is she okay?"

"NO, she's not okay. The same thing happened that happened in her hospital room. She completely freaked out, and almost knocked me out in the process. Right now she's locked in the bedroom and she won't answer me or let me in."

"Can you hear her?" His voice was sharp, tight, focused.

"Not a sound. If I could break the door down, Booth, I would, but I can't." The sound of a car door slamming traveled through the phone lines to her ears, followed quickly by an engine cranking and tires squealing. "Should I call 911?"

"I'll be there before they could get there." His voice sounded grim, and she had no doubt that what he said was true. "What happened?"

Angela sounded slightly less panicked, calmed just by knowing he was on his way. "She fell asleep and had some kind of nightmare not even an hour after we got here, and she kept screaming your name. When I tried to calm her down, she almost knocked me out. She finally woke up and calmed down, and I thought it would be okay after that. It _was_ okay for a while. Neither of us felt like sleeping, so I even talked her into some typical girl sleepover party stuff...you know, hair, makeup, nails - anything to get her to interact with me and get her mind off things."

"Hair?" He knew her captors had done her hair. Even if she hadn't told him about being prepared for sale, he had seen the soft curls when he found her. Thinking about how much more vulnerable it had made her look made his gut clench. He thought he might know what her latest flashback had been about, and it made him hit the gas a little harder. Her voice on the plane when she had told him about them throwing her clothes away was one he would never forget. He had promised to stay away, but Angela had just told him that Bones woke up screaming his name, and he knew that she was hurting and why. That was enough for him.

Angela misunderstood the question. "Hey, it's what I know, and I'm good at it. Don't judge. Everything was going fine. We were talking about her nails - well, I guess _I_ was talking about her nails - and she got all stiff and her eyes got that glazed look. Next thing I know, she shoved me down, ran out of the room, and locked herself in the bedroom. I'm scared, Booth. What if she hurts herself?"

He had the same fear, but he needed to focus on getting to her. Dwelling too much on what she could be doing in that room would drive him mad before he could get there. And the mention of nails threw his theory off a little bit about exactly what had caused the flashback, as well.

"Angela, what _exactly_ did you say right before it happened? I need to know exact words."

"God, Booth, I don't remember. I..."

Angela was flustered, and he could hear it. He knew he wasn't helping by pressing so hard for information, but it was all he could do. " _Think_. It could be important to know what triggered it. What were you talking about?"

"She never really said anything. I was going to put on a second coat of polish, and she pulled her hand back."

"Angela, what did you _say?"_ The insistence in his voice finally broke through, making her remember.

"I said, 'Sorry, sweetie. Gotta make it look good.'"

His hands gripped the wheel at the same time that his foot slammed down on the brake pedal. Her flashback hadn't been about having her hair done and her clothes thrown away. It hadn't been about Edon Tolka, pillowcases over her head, or shooting her captors, either. It hadn't even been past memories, like the Gravedigger or her parents leaving. No. It had been about him. Attacking her.

Gotta make it look good...

 _'They're watching...gotta make this look good. Too important.'_

None of the words sounded all that significant alone, other than the fact that they were the last words he said to her before he shoved her onto that damn bed.

Still gripping the wheel, he could feel the bile rising in his throat. His palms had broken out in a sweat, and his voice was shaky when he finally spoke. "I think maybe you should call 911 instead, Angela. Seeing me will just make it worse."

"What? Why?"

"The flashback is about me."

She processed that for all of two seconds, not even asking how he knew. "Booth, whether it was or not, I need your help. I can't stay here by myself with her anymore. She's a lot stronger than me. Even if I call 911 and they don't throw her into a psych ward - and you know she couldn't take that, Booth - what am I supposed to do when it happens again? I'm scared for her, but I'm scared _of_ her, too. I need you to stay here with us, whether she likes it or not. You're the only one strong enough to deal with her when this happens."

For some reason, those words hit him like a speeding truck. He wasn't needed because Bones wanted him. He wasn't even needed because he could help her. He was just the hired muscle - the guy who had already proven once that he could physically subdue her, so hey, why not make a habit of it?

"You want me to stay there with you, against her will, in case she needs to be physically _restrained_? Angela, do you have any idea what you're asking me? I can't _do_ that!"

"Seeley Booth, she could be bleeding out in that bedroom _right now_. If I call 911, you and I both know she's going to be put back in the hospital and have her sanity questioned, and I don't think she can take it right now. Hit the gas."

ooo … ooo … ooo

After running away from Angela and into her bedroom, Brennan tried to get her shaking under control. The last flashback had been the worst one yet. She had known that it had to happen eventually; at some point, she would inevitably stop seeing Edon's face when she remembered the worst part of what happened in that room, and she would clearly remember Booth's for the entire sequence of events.

She still hadn't been prepared for the reality of it.

Booth's words right before shoving her onto the bed had danced at the edge of her memory, just out of her grasp, ever since she first began remembering. Angela's innocent exclamation about the nail polish had sent the memory slamming back into her mind like a physical blow.

 _Gotta make this look good..._

For the first time, she had seen Booth's face in conjunction with the entire event: being held down, feeling his body's reaction, fearing that she was to be raped. The two images didn't seem to fit together - his face and something as horrible as that - and yet there they were.

Panic had flooded her. She had knocked Angela down and run to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her before sinking down to hug her knees and try to regain control.

Despite the intensity of the flashback, it was actually quite a short lived one. She came back to reality within moments of reaching her room, other than the fact that she couldn't stop shaking. She even heard Angela calling for her. She simply didn't want to talk about it.

Suddenly, waiting two days for Angela to leave was no longer an option. First of all, she couldn't face the idea of talking about any of it: her kidnapping, what happened with Booth, and certainly not her conclusions about what she had overheard him saying at the hospital. Everything was spinning out of control, and she needed distance to regain some control before she hurt someone. She shuddered at the thought of what she had just done. What if she had held a weapon of some type when she had shoved Angela? What if she were to have _another_ flashback and mistake Angela for an attacker? Even if she didn't need to escape so desperately for herself, she wasn't going to risk harming another person. She needed to be somewhere _alone,_ and soon.

As quietly as possible, she pulled out her old suitcase from her closet - the new one was still in Tirana - and began randomly throwing clothing into it before dressing and throwing on some shoes. Angela wouldn't like it, but she was leaving and she was doing it tonight. Even in her weakened condition, Angela wouldn't be able to prevent her physically. She would almost certainly call Booth to try to stop her when she realized what was happening, but Brennan intended to have transportation ready so that Booth couldn't possibly be able to arrive in time - even if he came, which wasn't likely after what she heard the day before. Retrieving her cell phone from her dresser, she stepped into her bathroom and quietly called for a cab.

When all was ready, she just needed cash and a jacket. Carefully emerging from her room and placing the suitcase in the hallway, she started for the living room, surprised not to find Angela directly outside the door waiting for her.

Just as she entered the living room, she heard it...

 _'Thank God you're here, Booth.'_

"Booth?"

The word was out of her mouth, revealing her presence before she could think better of it. She could hardly believe her ears. Booth was _there?_

ooo … ooo … ooo

Never before had Booth felt like an intruder when he pulled into his partner's parking lot.

Even when he had insisted on staying with her during the Cugini case, she had been a hospitable if unwilling host - well, for the whole five minutes before he got himself blown up by her refrigerator, anyway. She hadn't wanted him to stay, and she had said so, but she had been easy enough to win over with a little Foreigner and air guitar. Who would have thought? Couldn't have planned _that_ one out in advance if he had tried. You really have to be a lovesick fool if the night you got blown up is one of your favorite memories.

Even when he had shown up at her door in the middle of the night with cartons of Chinese food after she identified her mother's remains, he had only been a little nervous that she would toss him out on his ear - even when she had called him on that bullshit about seeing her lights from the road. It hadn't even been very good bullshit, but she had let him get away with it and had let him in.

This time, however, he had a sinking feeling it was going to be very, very different. Had Angela not scared him half to death with the idea of Bones bleeding out in her bedroom while he dragged his feet, dread would almost certainly have slowed him down. Instead, he skidded to a stop in the first parking spot he found, barely throwing the truck in park and removing the keys before his feet were pounding their way into her apartment building and up the stairs at top speed.

He did slow down when he saw her door, his heart pounding. Everything in him was telling him to go the other way. He believed in being a _gentleman_. He couldn't just force his way into a lady's home that didn't want him there - especially considering everything that he had already done. It made him feel like some kind of predator.

The door opened before he ever got to it, revealing a worried Angela standing framed in the opening.

"Has she come out?" He was only steps from the door by that point.

"No, but I can hear her moving around in there, finally, so I know she's alive. She still won't answer me. Thank God you're here, Booth."

" _Booth_?"

At that exact moment, Booth finally reached the door and leaned to look around Angela, who spun around to look behind her.

Having just emerged from the hallway leading to her bedroom, there stood Bones, wearing jeans, a casual top, shoes, and a confused look on her face. She hadn't been speaking _to_ him. She hadn't even seen him yet. She had just been incredulously repeating Angela's use of his name, in a tone that clearly said ' _don't tell me_ _he's_ _here.'_

"Oh my God. Sweetie, are you okay?" Angela was back in the apartment and had her arms thrown around Brennan before Booth could even move.

Brennan's arms automatically rose up to return the embrace, but her eyes never left the sight of Booth standing in her door. "I'm fine. What is _he_ doing here?"

Angela released Brennan to stand beside her, both of them facing Booth even as Angela answered Brennan. "You know, _he_ has a name. I _called_ Booth, Sweetie. You scared me half to death."

Brennan stiffened instantly, her cheeks reddening and her eyes dropping, and Booth took pity on her. It was clear that she didn't want him to know about what had happened. The fact that he already did know wasn't something he intended to announce if it would make her uncomfortable. He was making her uncomfortable enough just by being there.

Clearing his throat and shoving his hands in his pockets, he tried to sound casual as he carefully avoided Angela's eyes. "Angela just called and asked me to come over, and I wanted to see how you were doing anyway. Did something happen?"

The words were barely out of his mouth before he realized how little sense they made. He just wanted to see how she was doing? Oh, really? In the middle of the night? He should have just told her he had seen her lights from the road again...when he just happened to be driving by...in the middle of the night...

"Nothing happened." Brennan's answer was just a little bit too fast. "I'm perfectly fine, Booth. You needn't have come. You should go." Her eyes turned to Angela, her tone disparaging. "You shouldn't have bothered him, Angela."

"Yes, sweetie, I should have." Angela's voice was firm. "Both of you have got to stop this. He knows what happened, Brennan. I _told_ Booth what happened. I told him about the nightmare, and I told him about the flashback. You knocked me down and locked yourself in your room. You wouldn't answer me. You're not okay, and you need Booth to be here whether you want to admit that or not."

Something in Brennan's eyes snapped at that statement, and the words spilled out in an uncontrolled rush, hissing between her clenched teeth. "I do _not_ need him, Angela. And I don't need you, either. I don't need _anybody._ I'm _fine._ In fact, I want both of you to leave, right now. _"_

" _Bones..."_ Booth's voice was pained, his eyes focused past her at something in the hallway. "What the _hell_ is that?"

Angela turned to follow his gaze, her own eyes widening at the sight in the hallway. The fact that Brennan never turned was enough to tell them both that she knew exactly what they were looking at.

"It's a suitcase. A container in which one packs clothes and other necessities for travel." Brennan didn't succeed in sounding quite as unaffected as she intended.

Booth's heart was racing. "I know what it _is_ , Bones. What's it doing in your hallway?"

"You were in there _packing?_ You were going to _leave?"_ Angela's hands had gone to her hips and she no longer looked understanding. She looked furious. "What were you planning to do, Brennan? Conk me on the head and leave me here for dead?"

Brennan crossed her arms, adding a slightly haughty lift to her chin. "Of course not. I had no intention of injuring you. It would serve no purpose. You're physically incapable of stopping me anyway."

Angela cocked a hip. "Oh, I could have stopped you."

Brennan was already crossing to her bookshelf, taking down the same book that she had originally asked Russ to bring her, relieved to see that he had returned it. Seemingly calm, she began removing money from the pages.

"Bones." Booth's voice was gentle but steady, belying the fact that he was shaking inside. She was planning to _leave,_ and it didn't take a genius to know that there was a good chance she wasn't coming back. Clearly she hadn't planned for him to know, but now that he did know, she wasn't exactly backing down, either. That fact definitely deprived him of the excuse that she might get scared and run if he mentioned his feelings. She was planning to run anyway. If there was ever a time to man up...

Realizing he was still standing in the open door, he stepped fully into the apartment and closed the door behind him without ever taking his eyes off of her face. "Bones, if this is about what I said yesterday at the hospital..."

"This has nothing to do with you, Booth." She had cut him off and answered immediately, but the panic that crossed her face told him that she had definitely heard his impassioned words the day before. But how _much_ had she heard?

"Bones, don't lie to me." Her eyes flicked away from the book she was holding and onto his face, obviously surprised by how firm his voice was. It had surprised him as well, but he went with it. "After everything that we've just been through together, that's the only thing I ask of you. _Don't_. _Lie_ _to_ _me_."

She couldn't continue to meet his eyes, and instead turned to replace the book on the bookshelf. Careful to avoid his gaze, she spun on her heel and walked down the hall toward the suitcase she had placed outside her door. Bending down, she tucked the money neatly into a zippered area on the side, talking as she worked. "I'm not lying to you. I'm just going away for a few days."

He took a step away from the door and toward her, and then another and another as he spoke. "Bones, listen to me. I'm sorry that you heard me yesterday. That's not the way I wanted you to find out. I had intended to tell you when I thought you were ready, but I just..." He was right there in the hallway with her, only a few steps from her when his words trailed off at her reaction.

Her eyes had flown up to meet him, and he flinched at what he saw there. It was as though his words had _hurt_ her, deeply; but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. She stared at him like that for just a moment, and he could _see_ it when her eyes grew cold and empty as she dropped her gaze, stood, and grabbed the handle of her bag. She started toward him and he retreated, giving her space and letting her walk back out into the living room with her bag. He backed all the way up to the door, in fact.

"You don't owe me any explanations, Booth. It's certainly none of my business."

Her cool, rational tone made him want to put his fist through the door, while the actual words only confused him more.

"None of your business? Bones, what are you talking about? Of _course_ it's your business. I just didn't want to upset you. I was afraid if I said anything, you'd do _this._ "

 _'Please,'_ he prayed silently, _'just don't let her try to leave.'_ She was reaching into her coat closet to retrieve a jacket, and he was becoming more worried by the second.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Brennan froze into place with her arm still reaching into the closet, muscles snapping taut as wire. Utter humiliation engulfed her. He just didn't want to _upset_ her? So that was it. Not only had he been in a secret relationship, he hadn't told her because he thought it would _hurt_ her. He had kept it from her, believing that he needed to do so to protect her feelings - feelings which he obviously suspected went deeper than partnership and friendship, in a completely unrequited manner. Never in her life had she been more humiliated.

It was the final impetus she needed to make her move.

Dragging the bag, she made a sudden motion for the door, stopping a few feet in front of him when he didn't move aside. "I've called for a cab. Get out of my way, Booth."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth didn't budge, his eyes growing hard.

"Like hell."

Something that felt a lot like anger was beginning to warm him from the inside out. Something was going on, and he was becoming more determined by the moment to drag it out of her. It was like they were having two completely different conversations, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He had seen her freeze as she reached into the closet, watching as she went stiff as a board and the color spread up her neck onto her cheeks. Tension rolled off of her in waves that he could practically feel hitting him. She was angry and _embarrassed_ , but he still had no idea why. If anyone should be embarrassed, it was him; he was the one who had publicly declared love that was clearly unrequited.

He didn't know why she was reacting this way; but she was _not_ going out that door until he did.

"You're not well, Bones. You're still having flashbacks, for God's sake. I can't let you leave, and I'm not leaving either. I'll stay out of your sight if that's what you need, but Angela and I are both staying right here with you."

Her muscles were visibly tensing and flexing, coiled to strike, and he thought for one horrible moment that she might actually try to go through him. Her next words confirmed that suspicion, her tone low and dangerous. "I don't want to hurt you, Booth, but I will if you don't move."

He widened his stance some, his tone as low as hers. "You might hurt me, Temperance, but you're still not going out this door. You've been through hell, and believe me, I know I put you through most of it. I'd love nothing more than to get out of your way right now, because God knows I don't want to have to put my hands on you again to stop you. But I will if I have to. I care about you too much not to."

He wouldn't have a leg to stand on legally if she decided to press charges, and he knew it. It wasn't lost on him that he was, at the very least, unlawfully detaining her; and a good prosecutor could probably even get him for falsely imprisoning her in her own home - hell, with a little fancy dancing with the statute and if he had to drag her away from the door, why not go for kidnapping charges? And there would certainly be no jurisdictional issues this time. If she wanted him charged with something, she'd have him after this. So be it. He still wasn't letting her go out that door alone in her current condition.

Complete silence filled the room for the span of several heartbeats, the two partners' eyes glued on one another as they stood locked in a standoff. Neither was aware of Angela standing with her hands over her mouth, transfixed at the spectacle unfolding before her.

"Please." This time Booth's tone was less steady, almost faltering. His voice was almost a whisper when he next spoke, the soft tone doing nothing to hide his desperation. "Don't try to fight me, Bones. _Please."_

He saw the moment that she gave in, watching her as some of the tension left her limbs and she stopped looking as though she were about to attack. After visibly attempting to recompose herself into a completely calm mask, she spoke again in that cool tone that he was beginning to despise. "Fine. Angela is staying in the guest bedroom. You can have the couch."

"Okay." He nodded helplessly, his eyes sincere. "Thank you, Bones." He wasn't thanking her for letting him stay, and he knew it. He was thanking her for not making him have to grab her again. He was still trembling at the thought of her rushing him. Despite his brave words, if she had flown at him he wasn't sure he could have brought himself to do what it would have taken to subdue her again - not and come away with his sanity intact.

"I'm going to bed now. Help yourself to whatever you need."

Her cold formality left him scraped raw, but he managed a small smile in return. It had taken a Herculean effort to force that smile, but she never saw it anyway. She had already stiffly begun walking into the bedroom, taking her bag with her.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"Booth," Angela started.

"I'm fine, Angela. I just need to grab a pillow and a blanket." His back was to her as he turned and locked the deadbolts, closing up Brennan's apartment for the night.

"Booth."

He walked around her, making his way toward the couch. "I'd offer to take turns checking on her, but me going in her bedroom is probably not the best idea."

"Booth!"

That time she finally got his attention and he turned to face her. "What?" It came out more harshly than he had intended, and Angela instantly looked contrite.

"I'm sorry, Booth. I probably shouldn't have called you. I didn't know it would be like that."

Exhaling sharply, Booth sat down on Brennan's couch, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I'm glad you did call. If you hadn't, she'd be halfway to God knows where by now."

He leaned back dejectedly, feet flat on the floor and knees spread wide, his head going back against the couch. "I just can't believe she was going to run. She wasn't even going to say a word to me, Angela. After what she heard yesterday, she was just going to...disappear. She didn't even try that after what I did in Albania, for God's sake." Sucking in a deep breath and holding it for a moment before letting it go, he asked the one question that was burning him from the inside out. "Is the idea of me loving her that horrible?"

Angela sat next to him, placing a hand on his arm. "Maybe it was just too much, so soon after what happened, Booth. I don't know."

"But why would she say it wasn't her business?" That one phrase was eating at him. He might have expected her to tell him she didn't believe in monogamy. He would have been completely unsurprised to get the whole 'love-is-a-chemical-reaction-blah-blah-blah' lecture. He wouldn't even have been thoroughly shocked if she had hauled off and punched him for having the audacity to express feelings for her after what he did to her in Albania. But to say it wasn't her business? It didn't even make sense.

"I know. That _was_ weird," Angela agreed with him. "And she said you didn't owe her any explanations. You're right, Booth. Something is definitely not right."

Scrubbing both hands over his face, he sighed. "We're not going to figure it out tonight. She's going to bed, so we should all get some sleep."

Angela saw his concerned face looking toward Brennan's room, and hastened to reassure him. "I'll check on her every hour, Booth. Don't worry. You probably need sleep worse than any of us. Try to get some rest." After giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, Angela got up and left the room.

ooo … ooo … ooo

In the early hours of the morning, Brennan quietly poked her head out of her door, moving out just enough to get a view of the couch. Her heartbeat quickened and adrenaline shot through her when she saw it empty. Booth must have already left. Angela had been coming in like clockwork every hour, but hadn't been in for over two hours. This was her chance.

Ever so quietly, she slipped back into her room and found the small bag Russ had originally packed for her. Dragging the suitcase would make too much noise for a stealth escape, so she quickly transferred the money and a few clothing items into the bag. It wasn't ideal, but it would allow her to escape.

Cautiously, she tiptoed down the hallway and toward her front door, after checking to see that the bathroom door was open and the light off. Booth was not there either, or in her kitchen. He was gone. She was free to go.

Still glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the guest bedroom to make sure Angela wasn't coming, she was so lost in wondering why Booth had changed his mind and decided to leave that she almost stepped on him.

Stretched out on a makeshift pallet he had made with a couple of blankets and a pillow, Booth slept on the ground horizontally in front of her apartment door, blocking it. He was still dressed in the clothes he had arrived in, right down to the shoes.

Only he _wasn't_ sleeping. He was too still even to be sleeping. In fact, he wasn't even breathing as he stared up at her without twitching a muscle, sad eyes locked on her face.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"Hey, Bones." His voice was quiet, tender, befitting the stillness of early morning as he looked up into wide, startled blue eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you."

When she continued to just stand over him staring at him wordlessly, her mouth slightly open, he was careful not to move a muscle. She wasn't attacking him and she wasn't running straight back to her bedroom; she was actually _looking_ at him, for the longest amount of time since Angela's unfortunate words on the plane that convinced her he was abandoning her. He didn't want to break the spell.

Maybe it was the fact that he didn't comment on or attempt to confront her about the bag or the obvious fact that she was trying to run again. But for some reason, she relaxed enough to slowly nod her head, her eyes locked on his like the two of them were the only two people in the world.

"You didn't." It was little more than a strangled whisper, forced out in a lost-little-girl tone that immediately tightened into a death grip around his heart, but it was enough to embolden him.

Willing her to understand that he was talking about _so damn much more_ than her almost tripping over him at the door to her apartment in the middle of the night, he tried to pour every ounce of emotion that he was feeling into his voice.

"I _never_ wanted to scare you, Bones."

Unwilling to take the risk that she would take his words literally, he gathered his courage and pressed on in an attempt to spell it out for her. "Not in Albania, not on the plane, and not at the hospital yesterday."

He saw her breath catch in her throat, and saw what looked like fear flicker in her eyes...but not fear of _him_. What was it that had her so upset?

He was still processing that momentary ghost of emotion in her eyes, when she stunned him by speaking again. "I'm sorry, Booth. I didn't mean to ruin things for you."

"What? What are you talking about? Bones, I..." Mesmerized, words failed him when he saw the single tear that hovered on her lashes, threatening to fall as she began to slowly back away toward her bedroom, eyes still fixed on him as she clutched her bag in front of her like a shield.

When she finally turned her back on him to take the final few steps out of his sight, desperation pushed him up on an elbow to a half-sitting position. Ruined things for him? She thought this was _her_ fault? God, how could he have let her think he blamed her for _anything?_

"Bones!"

To his amazement, she turned back to face him, eyes still wide as they fixed right on him again, waiting.

He almost got lost in those tear-filled eyes again as he struggled futilely for the words he wanted. What he finally came up with sounded woefully inadequate to his own ears, but it was all he could come up with when faced with those huge, pained blue eyes.

"I'd do it all again, Bones - every bit of it. The only thing I regret is that I hurt you in the process. But if I had it to do over again, I'd still get on that plane. I'd still find you. And I'd still do whatever it took to get you back safe. Do you understand?"

She opened her mouth as though to say something, and he found himself holding his breath in anticipation.

He never found out what it was. She turned and strode quickly back to her bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.

ooo … ooo … ooo

When she had left her bedroom with her bag, she had not intended to reenter it for quite some time - if ever at all. And yet there she was again, not even five minutes later. Frustrated, she dropped her bag and made for her bathroom, intent on showering...again.

It was completely irrational, and she knew it. But it didn't seem that there was enough soap and water readily available in the D.C. area to make her feel clean again. Every time she thought about the filthy bed she had been cuffed to or the clothing she had been forced to wear, and every time she thought about Edon touching her and tying her, and even every time she thought about what happened with Booth, she just wanted to make another attempt to scrub herself clean. She had showered the moment she and Angela walked in the door, and again after her nightmare. She was certainly doing damage to her skin, but she could somehow not bring herself to care.

This time, however, she was more interested in the solitude and noise that the shower would provide. Stepping into the shower fully clothed, she fought back the sobs that threatened to claim her. Breaking down with Booth in her apartment was not an option. If he heard her crying he would want to know why. After what she overheard in the hospital the day before, she could no longer trick herself into believing it meant anything special. It was just part of the good man that he was - a good man, she reminded herself for the fifth time in five minutes, who belonged to someone else.

Finding him asleep on the floor in front of her front door had come as a shock.

In that quiet, early morning stillness, the sight of him lying there in an obvious attempt to block her door was so surreal and unexpected that it stopped her in her tracks. She was caught, and she knew it; that alone was enough to strip away pretense. The hushed, early morning atmosphere only lent an extra air of familiarity and intimacy, allowing his eyes to draw her in, in a way that she had refused to permit since she first came to believe he intended to abandon her. That was her first mistake.

The brown eyes looking back up at her - eyes that she had once described as 'warm and reassuring' - were filled with an unmistakable and unguarded sadness that was evident even to her. She hadn't noticed it before and it unnerved her, freezing her in place for just a moment. She couldn't have stepped away or dropped her gaze if she wanted to. It had been just long enough for him to do what was simultaneously the best and worst thing he could have done.

Ever so softly, he had looked up and apologized - _apologized -_ to her for scaring her; all while he was lying on the cold, hard ground in front of her door because he was still trying to protect her. Unbidden, memories of herself in Albania, craving his presence like a drowning man craves air, began to break through her defenses. It was enough to keep her eyes locked on him a few seconds longer, and long enough for a realization to sink in - a realization that made things so much more difficult:

Booth wasn't the enemy. He was still _him -_ a good man. She was still _her -_ someone he was supposed to be able to count on as a partner and friend. She had been so full of hurt and anger at what she believed to be his betrayal and intended abandonment of her, and so full of humiliation at the idea that she had ruined something for him, that she had forgotten that. What had he really done so wrong to make her push him away so intently? She had been so busy building up walls that she had failed to see that he was hurting too. It was so much easier to run away and throw away four years of partnership and friendship when she could make him the bad guy - the deserter. Only now, after seeing the sadness in his eyes and seeing that regardless of what had happened he was still there for her, she could no longer do so.

She could no longer forget exactly how much this man had done for her - before, during and since Albania.

"You didn't." She had heard the hushed words come out of her mouth, a pathetic attempt to reassure him that he hadn't frightened her.

When he pressed on, telling her he had _never_ meant to frighten her, she could feel the tears begin to prick her eyes. She had been so selfish. So wrapped up in her own confused pain at the revelation that he had a lover, and her belated and pointless realization that in some ways she wished it was _her,_ she had forgotten that she was supposed to be his friend. The loss of a relationship was almost certainly painful to him, and she had been so busy pushing him away to protect herself that she had not even acknowledged it.

"I'm sorry, Booth. I didn't mean to ruin things for you."

Still bathed in the hushed, early morning glow, with no other sound intruding on them, she ignored his stuttered response - knowing he was too much of a gentleman to put the blame where it belonged, so his words didn't matter - and simply studied him.

What she saw was enough to put another huge chink in the thick walls she had been steadily building around herself since the plane landed in D.C.

If she had been pressed to describe his face in just one word as he lay there trying to reassure her - though she could not say why anyone would ask such a ridiculous question - she would have described it as _kind._

Continuing her perusal of him, her heartbeat quickened as she studied his nicely symmetrical features and the perfect definition of his muscles as he lay there in his t-shirt, a blanket draped over him from mid-chest all the way down to where his shoes and the hem of his jeans peeked out from beneath the end of it. It wasn't lost on her that he still wore his shoes, and she had no misconceptions about why. He was prepared to give chase if she tried to run. After all that had happened, she realized that the thought should have frightened her.

It didn't.

Instead, she felt something she hadn't felt since before Angela let slip on the plane that he had intended to leave her alone on the plane in Albania - a sudden desire to be wrapped in his warm embrace.

It was something she couldn't ask for. Viciously reminding herself of what she had cost him and that she had no right to ask such a thing, she began backing away before she could drop right down on her knees and fling herself at him. Finally breaking her gaze, she turned away from him to retreat back into the sanctuary of solitude that was her bedroom.

"Bones!"

She was powerless not to turn around, her eyes seeking his out once again.

"I'd do it all again, Bones - every bit of it. The only thing I regret is that I hurt you in the process. But if I had it to do over again, I'd still get on that plane. I'd still find you. And I'd still do whatever it took to get you back safe. Do you understand?"

Guilt flooded her, as well as a healthy dose of confusion. Hadn't he just said in the hospital that he ruined his relationship for nothing? Didn't that mean that he did, in fact, regret it? And yet he sounded so sincere. Struggling to find words, she opened her mouth, closing it again quickly when she realized just how close she was to tearfully begging him to hold her; how close she was to letting slip that it _hurt_ to think of him with someone else. With one last vicious reminder to herself that it was not her place to do so - and that it would be unfair to do so even if he _would_ care _,_ when her reactions to him were so uncontrollable and unpredictable that she wouldn't even be able to let him touch her intimately - she turned and fled, softly closing the door behind her.

ooo … ooo … ooo

TO BE CONTINUED…


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Right on the dot of 8:00 am, two things happened.

Someone began pounding on the door, and Booth's cell phone began ringing.

Jolting out of the light sleep he had only recently fallen into, Booth sat straight up, heart racing. Neither Angela nor Brennan had appeared from their respective rooms yet. Somehow, he made it to his feet, checking through the peephole to see Lance Sweets standing on the other side. Without thinking, he jerked open the door, watching the young doctor's smile of greeting fade quickly as his eyes made it to the ground and saw the makeshift bed directly in front of the door.

Rather than explain, Booth motioned him in as he answered his phone. "Booth."

Sweets watched Booth closely as he stepped over the pallet and into the apartment, listening to Booth's end of the conversation. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I'm back in town. No, sir. Sir, this is not really a good..."

Sweets watched as all color fled from the FBI agent's face. "The police? No, I'm not at home. Yes, sir. Right away, sir. I'll be there in an hour."

As he flipped the phone closed, he vaguely registered Sweets' voice speaking to him. "Rough night?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you could say that." He was distracted, eyes going back and forth from his phone to Brennan's door.

"What's going on?"

"Huh? Oh, that was Cullen." Booth seemed to be trying to decide something. "Listen, Sweets, are you busy right now?"

"Let me guess. You need me to stay here?"

Booth's eyes were pleading. "I don't want to leave, but I don't have a choice."

"What was that about the police?"

Booth looked extremely uncomfortable "He didn't say. They're in his office and he wants me there too."

The thought of leaving made him extremely nervous, but he had come to a conclusion just before falling asleep: he couldn't hold her against her will forever; didn't even want to. If she were completely determined to leave, she would do so eventually. If she were going to stay, it needed to be her choice. Still, he didn't like the idea of her being alone in her condition.

"Just...whatever you do, don't let her out that door - even if she attacks you."

Sweets' eyes were wide, remembering how Dr. Brennan had jumped straight out of a wrecked car and taken down an armored attacker wielding a sword. "Attack? Wait...seriously?" But he was talking to an already closed door.

Looking only mildly terrified, Lance Sweets took a seat on the couch. "You've gotta be kidding."

ooo … ooo … ooo

After a quick stop at home to shower and change into a suit, looking over his shoulder all the way and expecting the police at any moment, Booth nervously made his way to work and to his boss's office. Resisting the urge to call Brennan's apartment and check on her, not wanting to wake her up, he paused outside Cullen's door and took a deep breath. As he finally tapped on the door and walked into his boss's office, it was with no small amount of relief that he noted that Cullen was alone.

"Sir?"

Cullen didn't even look up. "Have a seat, Agent Booth."

After leaving him to sweat it out for a few moments, Cullen finally spoke. "How's your brother?"

Booth wasn't entirely sure how to answer that, so he went with the most noncommittal answer possible. "He's fine, sir. Doing well."

Finally, Cullen looked up at him. "Motorcycle accident, was it? In India?"

When Booth hesitated for a moment, Cullen held up a hand to stop him. Reaching across his desk, he picked up a small stack of three file folders. "I have some files here I'd like you to take a look at before you answer that question, Agent Booth."

Setting down two of them, Booth's boss picked up the thickest one and casually leafed through it. "This was supposed to be my nice, quiet morning. And then I get something with your squint partner's name on it, which is never a good sign." Tossing the file back on the desk in front of him, Cullen leaned forward. "This file is the first of these that came to my attention this morning, an hour before I called you. Would you like to know what it says?"

No. Yes. Hell no. Was there an option for I'm not sure? With the knot in his throat bobbing, Booth managed to nod. Had Brennan called _Cullen?_ He knew she was upset with him, but did she want him arrested and fired?

"First I have a D.C. police report. Local cops were called to the hospital a little over 36 hours ago now. Hospital staff reported a woman brought in with restraint wounds on her wrists and bruising to her face and arms. The patient refused to talk to the police other than to claim the injuries were self-inflicted, but ironically she did request that a rape kit be performed. The hospital forwarded the rape kit findings to the officers of record, per standard procedure, along with all of the accompanying trace evidence collected from her clothing and body. The doctors were able to collect trace amounts of skin from beneath her fingernails, as well as locating a pubic hair that wasn't hers on her upper thigh."

Booth's face gave away nothing, but he was quite certain Cullen could hear his heart traitorously trying to give him away by thudding so loudly. After studying him for another heart-stopping moment, Cullen continued.

"So I'm sure you're wondering what the file for a local suspected sexual assault is doing on _my_ desk. I had the same damn question. You have any idea about that, Agent Booth?"

"No, sir." That much, at least, was true. How DID Cullen know about this?

"Apparently, the victim..." It was with great interest that Cullen noted how Booth cringed at that word. "The victim had a very famous name, and as such one of the local yokels thought that he could make a name for himself by getting a rush placed on the DNA testing and solving the crime as quickly as possible, despite the fact that their victim said no crime had been committed. He got lucky. He got a hit in the FBI database for the DNA under her nails _and_ for the pubic hair. Both were a match for the same man: a one-time suspect in the FBI investigation into the murder of a volunteer firefighter and hockey player named Pete Carlson. Ring any bells?"

ooo … ooo … ooo

Temperance Brennan had only slept for a couple of hours after finally calming down, afraid to let herself drift off too deeply. It was too likely that she would have nightmares, and she didn't want Booth to hear her call his name as she knew she would, one way or the other. It seemed that every time she slept she either found herself yelling for Booth to help her or to leave her alone. Either way, he didn't need to hear it.

It was almost 9:00 in the morning when hunger finally drove her from her bedroom. She had barely eaten in the hospital, and she was finding that she was suddenly quite ravenous.

Cautiously, she made her way out of the room, feeling very awkward about the idea of running into Booth. What would she say to him? Their short conversation in the middle of the night seemed almost like a dream.

She actually stopped and stared for a moment when she saw Sweets sitting on her couch beside Angela, the two of them whispering and looking nervous, with Booth nowhere to be found. She stared even harder when Sweets saw her and jumped up, adopting a slightly defensive ready position that even Brennan might have found comical under different circumstances.

"Sweets? What are you doing here?" She was still looking around the room rather than straight at him, obviously looking for Booth.

Sweets was studying her closely, exhibiting even more signs of nervousness. "I came by this morning to check on you and Angela, Dr. Brennan. How are you feeling?"

She didn't even make a show of answering his question. "Where's Booth?"

"He had to go, Sweetie," Angela jumped in, exchanging a worried glance with Sweets. "He got a call from Cullen to come into his office immediately, and he had to leave for a little while. He'll be back."

"We hope," Sweets threw in, and received a vicious kick to the ankle from Angela. "Ouch!"

Brennan's eyes looked sharper than Angela had seen them since she arrived back in D.C. as she looked back and forth between the two of them, her arms crossing over her chest. "Cullen? Why did Cullen want to see him? Do we have a case?"

Angela's eyebrows almost jumped off the top of her head. "You mean does _Booth_ have a case. You're not going to work right now, Brennan. Not happening."

"No, I don't think it was a case," Sweets filled in, gauging her reaction carefully and making the decision that he and Angela had been discussing just before she entered: he was going to tell her. "Booth said something about the police being in Cullen's office wanting to talk to him."

Initially, Sweets was somewhat disappointed by the reaction he received, as she stared back at him wordlessly. That disappointment lasted for only two seconds, giving way to stark terror as she suddenly surged toward him purposefully.

"Oh God..." Sweets backed away, arms flying out in front of himself, relieved when she stopped a couple steps in front of him.

"The police?" Brennan's eyes were wide, and Sweets could literally see the wheels turning in her head as she processed it out. "Not the same police that came to talk to me in the hospital?"

In a flash, she figured out what it had taken Sweets and Angela several minutes of conversation to piece together. "The police think... I've got to go. I have to get to the Hoover building." She was making her way to the front door before the words were out of her mouth.

Sweets was terrified as he moved in front of her, but he made a valiant attempt. "Whoa, Dr. Brennan..." Some giddy, hysterical part of him halfway expected to hear her say "horse" in return. Maybe it was the part of him that thought he was about to die. "Agent Booth was very clear about the fact that he wanted you to stay here."

When she grabbed his arm and glared him down, he knew there was very little point in arguing. At least Booth would only shoot him. Brennan would kill him slowly. "Okay, yeah, sure, I'll drive you."

Ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth's mouth fell open slightly at the mention of Pete Carlson, recognizing the name of the hockey player he had at one time been accused of killing. He had been cleared, but as an official suspect in a case where DNA testing was involved, he was in the database forever and not just the employee database.

He had already known the skin beneath her nails was his. The pubic hair they collected was more of a surprise, but he knew it shouldn't have been, even if he hadn't been struggling with her at some point dressed only in his boxers. He had also, after all, dressed her in _his_ sweatpants, from _his_ bag, and like most things in his spare bag it was likely that he had worn them at least briefly at some point since they were last washed. And then there was the fact that on the plane she had gone into the bathroom and removed what little undergarments she had, and had spent the rest of the time wearing his sweatpants with nothing underneath. It wasn't exactly a stretch to assume that it could have got on her that way, if it turned out to be his, which he actually rather hoped it would. The rape kit had proved that she wasn't raped, but the implications of it being anyone else's were not something he wanted to consider. The idea of anybody even getting that close was one that still scared him to death.

But either way, if it _was_ his, explaining that particularly damning piece of evidence was going to be a little more challenging.

"Sir, I..."

"Shut up and listen, Booth. Imagine my surprise when I come in this morning and get hit with this. I get dragged into this mess because the police are looking for one of my best agents, who has conveniently been out of town for the last week without any word."

"Sir, the rape kit showed that Dr. Brennan was _not_ raped."

"I said shut up, Booth. I know that. But the report also said that _something_ sure as hell happened to her. Assault of any kind is still a crime. And I have two more files here."

With great trepidation, Booth leaned back in his seat, only to have to lean forward again to catch the file that Cullen had just tossed at him.

"Go ahead, Booth. Open it." Cullen was eyeing him hard.

Booth wasn't sure what to expect, but he certainly wasn't expecting a completely empty folder, which was what Cullen had tossed him. "Sir?"

"That, Agent Booth, is everything I've found for all the work I've done this morning, and everything the two agents helping me have been able to find. What you're looking at is the sum total of all hospital records available in the entire country of India for one Jared Booth. As you can see, there are none. You're also looking at all of the traffic accident reports within the last two weeks reference that name. Again, you can see that there are none. What you're also not looking at is your name on any damn commercial flight passenger manifest for any flight leaving DC, _or_ going anywhere near India on the day you called me."

Placing the empty folder back on Cullen's desk, Booth leaned back in his chair. There was really only one thing he could say. "What's in the third folder?"

Cullen looked like he would be just as happy to shoot him as he would be to answer, making a show of picking up and waving the third folder. "I'm glad you asked. This, Booth, contains the international mess you stepped in and tracked into my office, and you'd better be damn glad that I got this _after_ I found out about Dr. Brennan being here in the hospital." Pulling out a small, thin scrap of paper that Booth recognized as being from the standard type of phone message pad the switchboard used, Cullen waved it slowly back and forth.

"These are the details of a phone message that was waiting for me this morning, from a very frantic representative of NATO. One Dr. Kreshnik Benjamin in Albania was finally transferred to me when he kept calling the switchboard and mentioning a Dr. Temperance Brennan." Nothing other than his tone was required for Cullen to convey just exactly how unenthused he was by the fact that anything Brennan-related automatically landed on him.

"Apparently, this Dr. Benjamin had some more information he wanted to share with the very threatening FBI agent who interrogated him in Albania. I've just spoken with him. He was quite pleased to hear that Dr. Brennan was alive and well back in D.C., but quite agitated that no one bothered to notify him that she had been found; especially after he was manhandled by the very American FBI in his own country. So agitated, in fact, that he was happy to send me a copy of the Albanian police report detailing her disappearance there, which I also have in this file."

"Sir, this is not what it looks like." Booth was practically stammering, and he knew it.

"Oh really? Because what it looks like, Agent Booth, is that while you were out of work on the pretense of dealing with a family emergency, you were actually running all over Europe flashing your badge at powerful diplomats where you had _no_ authority, either traveling with or chasing after your partner, who then turned up in the hospital here beaten and bruised with your skin under her nails and your pubic hair on her leg."

Oh. So maybe it _was_ what it looked like.

Booth was spared having to answer, however, because halfway through Cullen's last statement his door had flown open and an auburn-haired whirlwind had stormed in.

"Deputy Director Cullen."

Cullen rose to his feet immediately when he saw her. "Dr. Brennan. What a surprise and what a pleasure." His wry tone said that it was very much the opposite, on both counts.

"Bones?" Booth rose to his feet as well. "What are you _doing_ here?"

She ignored Booth as though he weren't even in the room. "Deputy Director Cullen, the police have it wrong."

"Bones!" Booth hissed.

"Why don't you enlighten me then, Dr. Brennan." Cullen swept a hand out welcoming her to take the floor, figuring he might as well give her permission because she was clearly going to do it anyway.

" _Bones!"_

She ignored Booth, focused solely on Cullen, her eyes filled with determination even though Booth saw her hands tremble. "Agent Booth did not attack me or harm me in any way, despite the evidence you have received that suggests otherwise. Agent Booth saved my life."

Booth sucked in a sharp breath, going completely still. Had he just heard her correctly?

"Dr. Brennan!" Sweets ran in the door, out of breath. "I asked you to wait for me."

Cullen shook his head, hands on his hips. "Will anybody _else_ be joining us today?"

Sweets seemed to have just noticed the Deputy Director, instantly becoming contrite as he realized he had just burst into his office unannounced and uninvited. "Oh. I'm sorry, sir."

Booth stood stock still, staring at the woman he loved, forgetting even to breathe. Brennan stood gazing at the Deputy Director and carefully avoiding Booth's eyes, her outward appearance calm.

Cullen closed his eyes for a long moment, appearing as though he was trying to keep his temper. "I already suspected as much, Dr. Brennan, which is why I did _not_ request your presence here today. But since you _are_ here, did you have anything else you needed to tell me?"

She seemed to think about it for a moment. "No, sir. I would like to note that the D.C. police have no jurisdiction. All of my injuries occurred outside of the D.C. area, and I have no intention of cooperating with _any_ agency's investigation into Agent Booth's activities."

Cullen took all of that in calmly. "Well then. I'd say that was very plain. Wouldn't you, Agent Booth?"

Not receiving an answer from his agent, who looked completely fixated on his partner, Cullen turned then to Sweets. "Dr. Sweets, perhaps you could take the good doctor back home where she can get some rest. I'm not finished with Agent Booth yet."

"Yes, sir."

"What's going to happen to Booth?" Brennan didn't move, even when Sweets tried unsuccessfully to guide her from the room.

"Not your concern, Dr. Brennan. Go home. Now."

"Bones...you should go," Booth interjected gently, surprised to see her move to obey after only the slightest of pauses. He wanted to follow her out the door so badly he could barely stand it. Hearing her defend him to Cullen, even if it was about to get him fired, made him want to grab her and kiss her senseless. There were quite obviously some huge reasons that he couldn't do that, but none of them changed the fact that he _wanted_ to, so badly he could almost taste it.

She was fresh out of the hospital and had barely spoken to him in days, and yet somehow, when Sweets let slip that he was in trouble, she had stormed to his aid. It spoke volumes to him. Even as she allowed Sweets to guide her out the door with barely a glance in his direction, Booth still felt like he was dancing on air, a feeling which did not diminish even when Cullen fixed stern eyes back on him.

"All of this happened in Albania?"

Booth tried to keep his expression serious and not gleeful. He was probably the happiest about-to-be-fired-guy in the entire world. "Yes, sir."

Cullen sighed. "Well, then I suppose I can notify D.C. cops that they have no jurisdiction, and then ship the entire mess back to Albania. If the police work done on her disappearance is any indication, all the evidence will be lost within a day. If it ever gets there in the first place."

Booth hadn't expected that, especially the veiled reference to intentionally losing the evidence. "Sir?"

"That will be all, Agent."

Booth was incredulous. "You don't need my badge and my gun?"

Cullen raised an eyebrow. "Are you quitting, Agent Booth?"

Even knowing that he should take the first break he seemed to have received in a week and run with it, Booth just couldn't let it go. "But sir, what about..."

Rising from behind his desk and moving toward the door in what was clearly a nod for Booth to leave, Cullen shrugged. "I've smoothed things over with NATO. At the end of the day, Dr. Benjamin was just relieved that he wasn't responsible for getting the best forensic anthropologist in the country killed. As for you, you never once told me you were in India. Clearly, I was misinformed elsewhere. Off the record, I saw Dr. Brennan's injuries with my own two eyes just now. As far as I'm concerned, it's a good thing you were there. You protected a valuable Bureau asset."

"And the family emergency thing?" _'Am I_ _trying_ _to get fired?'_ he wondered.

Cullen waved a dismissive hand. "I was a field agent for years, Agent Booth. I haven't forgotten what it's like. Your partner _is_ family. You're on two day paid leave. That should be enough to keep your use of your FBI badge in Albania out from in front of a review board, and enough time for you to tend to your partner and recuperate. That will be all."

On his way out the door, a still stunned Booth turned to face his boss. "Thank you, sir."

Cullen gave him a tight-lipped expression that might have passed for a small smile. "Still off the record, I owed you one for what you did on my daughter's case. You just better be glad you've got the best damn solve rate going in the entire Bureau. Keep your nose clean for a while, Booth, or even I won't be able to help you."

"Yes, sir."

"Agent Booth?"

He had known it was too good to be true, and he turned back hesitantly. "Yes, sir?"

Cullen had returned to stand by his desk, and was tapping his fingers on top of the third file, the one containing the information from Albania. "You didn't by any chance blow up a building did you?"

Booth put on his best poker face. "No, sir. I had absolutely nothing to do with blowing up any buildings."

"Hm." Cullen didn't look convinced, but there was no hint of deception in the younger agent. "All right then."

And Booth strode away quickly, in search of his partner.

ooo … ooo … ooo

A very nervous Angela Montenegro paced back and forth across Temperance Brennan's apartment, becoming more nervous with each step. She could reach neither Sweets nor Brennan on their respective cell phones, and the suspense of what was going to happen to Booth was killing her. Finally, in desperation, she had tried Booth's cell phone as well, but he did not pick up either. It could only mean that all three of them were still in with Cullen, which meant she had some time to kill. And she needed to de-stress, desperately.

Pawing through her bag, she found her favorite bottle of bubble bath and her iPod. Making her way into the bathroom and making sure she put the phone where she could still hear it, she ran herself a hot bubble bath and tried to relax into it, trying to put away all of the troubling thoughts and worries and reassure herself that everything would turn out all right in the end.

ooo … ooo … ooo

It had taken all of his persuasive powers, but Sweets had finally coaxed Brennan back into his car to return her to her apartment. First she had wanted to stay and wait to find out what happened to Booth. Then she had insisted upon being taken to the lab, which Sweets summarily vetoed. If he were to do _that_ , he really would have more to fear from Booth than from her.

Finally, she had relented and agreed to allow him to drive her home. The drive home was much different than the drive to the FBI building had been. Most of the trip there had been spent with her pressing him to drive faster and making comments that made it clear she questioned his driving ability, especially compared to Booth's - oh, and if he worked for the FBI, why didn't _he_ have lights and a siren? Inevitably, she had concluded that he must not be very important. He had picked up on the underlying nervousness in her questioning of him, but had wisely chosen not to comment on it.

On the trip home, however, she was much more silent, even when Sweets attempted to engage her in conversation. Finally, he decided to stop beating around the bush and asked a direct question.

"Angela said that you experienced another flashback last night. Do you remember the contents of it?"

"Yes." Her flat answer invited no return query, but Sweets pressed on.

"What did you remember?"

She cut her eyes toward him sharply before glancing away, and Sweets knew he was going to get a half answer. "Events related to my captivity, obviously."

Having already been clued in by Angela about what had triggered it and Booth's belief that it was about him, he got to the heart of the matter, ignoring the sudden vibration of his phone in his pocket notifying him that he had an incoming call. "Did those events involve Agent Booth?"

A slight hesitation. "No."

So Booth was right: it _did_ involve him. "I find it especially interesting, Dr. Brennan, that you feel the need to deny that particular aspect. I'm aware of some of what happened between you and Agent Booth, and I'd like to talk to you about it. You need to talk to someone. This is not something you're going to be able to compartmentalize and forget. It's not something that either of you can, especially if you hope to continue working together. This needs to be addressed. I know you have little respect for psychology, but I believe I can help. _Let_ me help."

When Brennan still didn't answer, Sweets shifted tactics. "All right. If you're uncomfortable discussing what happened with Agent Booth, perhaps we can start with something easier - another portion of what happened to you. Have you experienced nightmares or flashbacks related to any other events surrounding your ordeal?"

It was an escape hatch to get away from talking about Booth, and she took it gladly - just as Sweets had intended. "Yes."

"Okay." Sweets was becoming more animated, as he always did when he felt he was onto something. "Then let's explore that, Dr. Brennan."

He was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing, and he watched as she eagerly pulled it out and read the display. When she saw that it was Angela calling, disappointment was evident on Brennan's face. She lowered the phone without answering it, but did not put it away. Angela was not really a better option than Sweets, and she had no news to tell her anyway. She still didn't know what was going to become of Booth's career.

The phone in her hand, however, seemed to remind Brennan of something, and she continued to stare at it.

"Dr. Brennan?" Sweets had watched as her breathing pattern altered, her eyes getting that faraway look. "You're remembering something. Don't fight it. Describe to me what you're remembering. Focus on the details. Help me picture what you're seeing."

Confused, he watched as, instead of speaking, her hands played over the buttons on the phone. Craning his neck to see what was on the display, he got the shock of his life. "Oh my God," he breathed softly when the first picture popped up.

She barely glanced at it before wordlessly turning the phone toward him and passing it off to him. He almost wrecked his car at the sight of her in the cell phone picture, bound and gagged and looking quite terrified. He didn't know what surprised him more: the actual picture or that she had actually shown it to him, especially in such a matter-of-fact way. Then again, he knew as well as anyone that Dr. Brennan was very literal. He had asked her to help him picture it - and she certainly had, in the most succinct way possible.

"Wow. Okay. Um..."

Her blue eyes had lost that faraway look and were looking focused again, peering at him with just the slightest hint of vulnerability. It was enough for him to get it together. On some level she _wanted_ help, even if it was only subconsciously, or she wouldn't have allowed him to see something so personal. Either that, or that was how badly she just _really_ didn't want to talk about Booth. Thumbing through them and almost certainly proving every point she had already made about his driving in the process, Sweets was especially jarred by the one of her with the pillowcase over her head.

"Why did you keep these images, Dr. Brennan? Is there a reason you haven't deleted them?"

She was still regarding him calmly. "You're the psychologist. Isn't that what you're supposed to tell me?"

That little voice in his head that always taunted him when dealing with the uber-rational scientist was screaming at him: _'Unorthodox. Unorthodox. You try anything by-the-book and she's going to hang you with it."_

He accepted her challenge. "All right, Dr. Brennan. How many times have you viewed the images? Why did you decide to show them to me?"

She squirmed uncomfortably, clearly suspicious about what she was giving up by answering. "This is the second. I only opened them this time in answer to your earlier question."

"No." Sweets was shaking his head, but managed not to sound confrontational in any way. "That's _not_ why, Dr. Brennan. These images of what happened to you, they represent a moment when you felt completely powerless. The last image, especially - the one where your head is covered - undoubtedly unlocks some _way_ powerful memories for you of your past. Holding on to these images as you have done, controlling when and where they see the light of day, as it were, is an attempt for you to gain control over them and therefore over the memories as well."

"That's ridiculous, Sweets," she argued. "If that were the case, I could simply gain control over them by deleting them. They're pixels on a screen and nothing more. They have no significance in and of themselves."

"It's not the pixels, Dr. Brennan. It's what they represent. Powerlessness. Right now you feel powerless against your own memories. They're controlling your sleep, and even some of your waking actions and reactions. Am I right?"

Her silent stare was confirmation enough. "Until you address these issues head-on - explore them and discover your triggers and how to cope - you're going to remain powerless. These memories are not going to go away on their own."

"We're here." Her demeanor left no doubt that she was finished with that particular conversation.

Sweets had barely noticed that he had pulled into her lot and parked. Climbing out, he followed her wordlessly to the door of her apartment, knowing that an invitation inside would not be forthcoming. "When you're ready, Dr. Brennan, I'm available to talk at your convenience. In the meantime, might I suggest keeping a journal vividly detailing each nightmare and flashback that you have, including what you were doing and what was going on around you at the onset of each?"

"I appreciate your concern, Dr. Sweets. But I'm fine. Surely you must have patients?"

He did, actually, and needed to be getting in to work. "Think about it, Dr. Brennan." He stayed until she was inside and he heard the lock click, leaving her in Angela's capable hands as he made his way back to his own office, deep in thought.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"Angela?" Brennan made her way through the apartment, freezing when she heard water running and the soft sounds of Angela singing along to something. Her conversation with Sweets had already unnerved her. Discovering that Angela was preoccupied and she was finally alone set her heart pounding.

Free. She was alone, and Angela didn't know she was there. If she wanted, she could be out the door with no one the wiser.

Somehow, that moment wasn't as rewarding as she had anticipated. In fact, after so many hours of trying to accomplish exactly that goal, actually _being_ alone and free to leave was almost frightening.

She stood in place for long moments, breathing accelerated, unsure if she wished to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity or not. Did she still wish to leave?

She had almost decided that she did not, when the sound of her cell phone ringing made her jump. Checking the caller ID, her breathing accelerated and her heart pounded even faster at the message displayed on it: _'Booth.'_

It seemed entirely too soon for him to be finished with Cullen if he still had a job. That could only mean one thing...

And that one thing was enough to make her decision for her. If she had now cost him a career that he loved as well - which also meant they would no longer be working together - she didn't want to hear that from him. She needed time to gather her thoughts before she could face him, but if he was already calling her then he was sure to come there looking for her next.

Powerlessness, Sweets had said. She would regain some control, but it would be her way - not psychology's way. She no longer intended to leave the country or even the D.C. area, as her first impulse had dictated, but she needed some distance right then. The sound of water draining propelled her into action. It was now or never.

With shaking hands, she ignored the 'missed call' icon and quickly called for a cab. Robotically, she made her way to her bedroom and retrieved the bag she had never unpacked, throwing it over her shoulder and making her way out of the apartment, locking it behind her. Head down, she quickly walked out of her building and three blocks down the sidewalk, to the corner at which she had requested the cab to meet her.

Resisting the urge to duck behind something every time she saw a black SUV, the wait seemed interminable before the cab finally pulled up and drove her away.

ooo … ooo … ooo

She was careful, and thorough. After directing the first cab to drop her off at the airport, she quickly hailed another. Once safely hidden in the second cab, she then asked to be taken to a small hotel she knew of on the outskirts of D.C.

No sooner had the second cab pulled away than she walked out of the lobby, right next door to another, smaller motel that could only be described as a roach motel - the last place anyone would look for her.

Paying cash, she soon had a room without offering I.D., booked in the name of Joy Reichs.

ooo

After leaving Cullen's office at what was almost a dead run, Booth had immediately checked Sweets' office to see if Brennan was there. Not finding either of them, he made tracks for his vehicle, already dialing her home number.

His excitement about seeing her knew no bounds. Her defense of him to Cullen had lifted a heavy burden off of his shoulders. Hearing her say of her own volition that he had not attacked her or harmed her - that he had, in fact, saved her life - had gone a long way toward relieving him of much of his guilt. It didn't matter what anyone else thought of what he had done. So long as _she_ knew he had not wanted to hurt her, he could deal with everyone else. And it was the first time that he knew for sure what her thoughts were on the matter. He felt 100 pounds lighter.

Receiving no answer when he again tried her home number, he tamped down on the urge to worry. It wasn't likely that she was even home yet, especially with the 12-year-old driving her. Drumming his fingers on the wheel, he fought down the inane urge to whistle as he negotiated traffic in an impatient bid to reach her as quickly as possible.

With any luck, he would be only a few minutes behind her. Maybe, if she seemed comfortable enough, he could even send Angela home to get some rest, and the two of them could really _talk_ about what happened - and maybe even about what she had overheard at the hospital. It was long overdue, and knowing that she wasn't going to gut him by accusing him of attempted rape made the prospect of that conversation much more welcoming.

He wasn't foolish enough to think for a single moment that there was any chance of anything physical happening between them that night or any time in the near future, even if by some miracle she returned his feelings. That would be a long, difficult road for both of them, but one he was more than willing to inch along at a snail's pace with her, even if they never reached the end of it in their natural lifetimes. If she just loved him, he would wait forever for her. He had been keeping his hands to himself for years - what was another ten or even twenty if she loved him back? And he was beginning to think that just maybe she did. She had dropped everything, even in her current condition, to storm his boss's office and try to help him. That had to mean _something_. It certainly meant something to him.

On impulse, he pulled into the Thai restaurant from which they usually ordered. He hated to take the time, but it was a perfect idea. Maybe the conversation would be a little less daunting surrounded by the familiarity of their favorite takeout dishes. It would be something _normal_ \- something _them._ While he waited, he tried her cell phone. Still, he received no response but fought down the beginning edges of a nagging worry. Fifteen minutes later, he was out the door carrying bags of both their favorites and on the way to her apartment.

He was pulling into a parking space, already grabbing bags when his cell phone rang. Seeing that it was Bones' home number, a grin broke out over his face.

"Bones! I've been trying to get you." He added a singsong lilt to his voice on his next words, hoping to set the tone for the kind of normalcy between them that he was desperate for. "I've got Thai food..."

"Booth! She's not with you, then?"

Angela's words sent an instant chill down his spine, crushing his hopeful mood immediately as his smile faded.

"No. Why?"

"She left here with Sweets..."

"Yeah, I know," he cut her off. "They should be back by now."

"I just talked to Sweets. He dropped her off at the door twenty minutes ago."

His hand frozen on the door handle, he felt the beginnings of panic take over. "She didn't come in? He just _left_ her?"

"No, she _did_ come in. Sweets watched her walk in the door, thinking that I was here. I _was_ here, but I was in the bathtub and didn't hear her come in. I didn't think she would be back so soon. Booth..."

"Okay." Swallowing hard, he forced himself to calm down. It couldn't be what it looked like. After all, she had come _to_ him at the Hoover building - had sought him out intentionally. She wouldn't run from him now, would she? Would she?

"I'm coming up, Ange. I'll be right there."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Ignoring the pitying look Angela was giving him when he reached the door, Booth brushed right past her and down the hall to Brennan's room. After a cursory glance around the room, he pulled open her closet, looking for the bag he had seen her with the night before when she almost tripped over him.

"I don't see her bag. She's gone." He still stood staring into the closet, as though hoping it might hold answers for him.

"Her bag's right there, Booth." Angela was pointing at the big suitcase, still sitting in the middle of the floor.

"Not that bag. She had a smaller bag when she tried to leave this morning." Moving away from the closet, he knelt by the suitcase.

"Wait...you saw her this morning? She tried to leave again? When?" Angela seemed shocked at that revelation, unaware of their middle-of-the-night meeting.

Sticking his hand into the side pocket of the suitcase where he had watched Bones put the money the previous night in her hallway, he found it empty. "The money's gone too. She has the smaller bag with her. She's gone, Angela."

Angela looked as frustrated as he felt. "She can't have gone far, Booth. Sweets just left her twenty minutes ago."

Striding for the front door at a pace that made Angela have to run to catch up with him when she finally began to follow him, Booth spoke in a tone that invited no argument. "Stay here, Angela, just in case she comes back. I'm going to check the lab and anywhere else she might have gone. If you hear from her..."

"I will, Booth. You'll be the first to know, I promise."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Before Brennan was even settled in the small, dark room of questionable cleanliness, her cell phone had already rung at least 10 times. Obviously, Booth and Angela had both now discovered that she was missing.

She had been so certain the day before that this was what she wanted.

But ever since hearing from Sweets that the police were looking for Booth, she had started to become less and less certain that disappearing was for the best. Even entering the Hoover building had flooded her with doubts about that fact, reminding her of so many _good_ memories she shared with her partner. Seeing his name repeatedly on her caller ID was doing nothing to strengthen her resolve. Multiple times she had been on the brink of asking the drivers of both of the cabs to return her to her apartment. Only the thought of facing Booth and hearing that she had cost him everything he held dear was enough to keep her silent and on course. She _needed_ this. She needed time to gain control of her emotions and her memories before dealing with this newest aspect of what had happened, and time to put into perspective everything that had happened.

But Booth was Booth, and if he thought she were in danger he would be trying to find her. She knew that was true, even if he had just been fired because of her. Viciously swallowing the lump that that realization caused to rise in her throat, she took her phone and allowed her shaking fingers to type him a quick text message before turning her phone off and sticking it under a pillow and out of sight.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"Cam! Is she here?"

Cam didn't have to ask who he meant when Booth descended on the Jeffersonian like a man possessed. "I certainly hope not. Isn't she at home with Angela?"

"No, she took off." Never slowing his pace, he was almost unaware of Cam's presence behind him as she almost jogged to keep up, following him into Brennan's dark office and all the way down to bone storage.

 _"Damnit!"_ His fist slammed into a metal table, his hands going to his hips as he stood thinking.

"If I hear from her, Booth, you'll be first to know. But if she knows you're looking for her, this is the last place she would come." Cam's look was sympathetic, but her tone was as straightforward as ever. "She can't get too far, though. I just got off the phone with Dr. Benjamin. He's sending all of her luggage, including her passport, ID's and wallet, here to me at the Jeffersonian, because he could never get in touch with her. That means she can't leave the country, and she has no credit cards. She's close by, Booth."

"If she doesn't want me to find her, I won't be able to find her, Cam." Even he didn't really believe it was true, but he couldn't help voicing his worst fear.

Cam took a step closer. "You found her in Albania, three hours from the place she was last seen. You can find her in D.C. You can find her anywhere, Seeley."

His heart skipped a beat when his phone beeped, notifying him of an incoming text message. The look on his face was enough to tell Cam who it was. "What'd she say?"

Wordlessly, Booth turned the phone to face her, his eyes averted toward the ceiling in an unreadable look as she read it.

 _'I'm safe. Please do not look for me.'_

ooo … ooo … ooo

A little over 24 hours later, Brennan was gathering her things together, prepared to check out and leave. The only thing she had not decided was where she was going, but she was considering going home instead of to another hotel as she had originally planned. Finally, she had slept for the longest period of time in recent memory. Without having to worry about anyone hearing her call for Booth in the throes of a nightmare, she had crashed hard, sleeping a dreamless sleep for over 12 hours of the time she had been there. She had awakened with yet another nightmare, but this one had fled from her memory almost the moment she jolted awake.

With little else to do over the following 12 hours, she found herself doing something she had not planned: following the advice of a psychologist. Locating a pad of paper and a pen in the flimsy nightstand by the bed, she had written until her hand hurt and the pen ran out of ink. She would refuse to admit it to Sweets, but she had found it quite...therapeutic. At some point, she had stopped writing about the nightmares and flashbacks she could remember, and had started writing about anything and everything that crossed her mind. More and more of what happened was coming back to her, and beginning to fit together in logical order. She had even started a fresh piece of paper and begun writing a chapter for her latest novel.

One of the primary things she had discovered was that many of the things that did not seem to fit together in any type of logical order were things related to Booth and conclusions she had drawn about him. She had written those out in a list.

First and most confusing was Angela's revelation that he had intended to leave her in Albania. It didn't fit with his actions before, such as following her all the way there in the first place, or his actions after, such as refusing to leave the hospital and sleeping on the ground to make sure she stayed in her apartment. If abandoning her was his intention, he had been provided ample opportunity to do so on multiple occasions since then. And yet he hadn't done so.

Second, and even more confusing, were Booth's other actions compared to what she had overheard in the hospital. If what she had concluded was true, wouldn't he be angry with her? But other than his angry tone as he said it, none of his actions spoke of anger at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. And he had told her the night before that he didn't regret anything other than hurting her, even when she tried to apologize to him.

And yet, his own previous words and Angela's had seemed to support her conclusion. Angela had said that what Booth said made her 'sick.' Booth himself had told her that he had intentionally not told her before, for fear of upsetting her. What else could it mean?

She had just shoved that particular list into her bag, pulling the strap over her shoulder, when a sudden pounding on the door to her room broke her from her reverie, startling her severely.

"Bones! I know you're in there. Open the goddamn door right now or so help me God I'll break it down!"

Adrenaline shot through her. It was Booth - angrier than she had ever heard him and speaking to her in a way he never had. Suddenly, her new conclusion that he wasn't angry at her was the conclusion that seemed flawed.

ooo … ooo … ooo

As Booth stood in the lobby of a cheap, ramshackle little motel, staring at the guest register in disbelief at the name before him - Joy Reichs - he was surprised by the emotion that flooded him.

Anger. Pure, hot, blinding rage.

Some of it was probably the fact that he had been _right next door_ at the hotel he had tracked her second cab to, over 12 hours earlier. He had never given this place a second look.

His activities over the past sleepless 24 hours would almost certainly not constitute Cullen's description of 'keeping his nose clean.' Finding out what cab company she had called, what time she had been picked up and where - a corner he had driven _right past,_ and would have seen her standing on if he hadn't stopped for food- and even talking to her cabdriver and finding out she had been dropped off at the airport had been easy. The airport part had scared the living daylights out of him, but getting that far had been simple enough.

What followed had been anything but simple. After clamping down on the horror that she had boarded a plane, reminding himself that she couldn't do so without ID or a passport, he had next turned to tormenting cab drivers. She wouldn't be able to rent a car either, so cabs were her only option. He had spent hours pounding the pavement and tracking down a cabdriver that recognized her photo, and he had been filled with relief when the cabdriver gave him the name of a local hotel, just on the outskirts of D.C.

He had believed he was on the brink of finding her, so finding out that no one at the hotel had seen her was _not_ what he wanted to hear. He had flashed his badge, intimidated, cajoled, and spewed empty threats that he could have the government _shut them down_ if they didn't tell him what he wanted to know. He had every employee who had worked in the past 24 hours either called in physically or sent a copy of the picture on their cells, and still none of them had recognized her.

From there, he had been at a dead end. He had wasted several hours talking to cab companies and tracking down useless leads, soon realizing that of the multiple cabs that had been called to that particular hotel in the past few hours, none had picked up a woman matching her description.

So she wasn't there and she hadn't left by cab.

Next, he had taken to going to every hotel in D.C. that he thought she might frequent, repeating his empty threats of bringing the federal government down on their heads if they didn't wake up every employee who had been within a country mile of the desk and make them look at her photo.

It hadn't exactly been his finest moment, and he knew it. He was pissed, he was hurting, and he was scared.

So when he finally found himself back at that roach motel right next door to where he started, immediately being told that yes, she was there and in what room, he lost it a little.

Joy Reichs? Was she fucking kidding?

 _'I know who you are'_ he had told her that day. He really wasn't sure he did anymore.

He should have been relieved to find her. He was, but he was also torn between bursting his way in and wrapping his arms around her, or bursting in and giving her a piece of his mind for taking off and scaring him like that. Again.

He was pretty sure the first wasn't an option, which only pissed him off more; so he put up very little fight about going with the second.

After pounding on her door and yelling at her in a way that he would have never dreamed he could speak to her, he didn't try to hide his anger when the door finally opened and he was met with crystal clear blue eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED….


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Before Brennan could even speak, Booth's eyes raked roughly over her from head to toe checking for injuries, the set of his jaw becoming even angrier and his eyes glittering even more darkly as he took in her shoes, jacket, and the bag slung over her shoulder. A quick visual sweep of the room behind her, seeing it devoid of any of her personal effects, only confirmed to him that had he been even a minute later, she would have been gone again. That thought only infuriated him more.

"Going somewhere?"

The pure fury in his voice gave her pause, and she hesitated a moment. "No. Actually, I..."

He scoffed, interrupting her, making it clear that he didn't believe her.

"Good."

Eyes hard, he took a rapid step forward. Shocked by his manner, she automatically retreated one step, realizing a moment too late that by doing so she had allowed him into the room.

Booth wasted no time in slamming the door with a satisfying _bang_ before pointedly putting his back against it, arms crossed. "That's good, Bones. 'Cause you'd have had a hell of a time getting through me if you were." His eyes were full of angry, reckless challenge, his posture obviously daring her to try it.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the beginnings of the automatic fear response that she seemed unable to control since her ordeal, triggered by the feeling of being trapped. It was only with great effort that she pushed it down, reminding herself that this was _Booth_ \- an angry Booth, but Booth nonetheless. He wouldn't hurt her.

She hadn't pushed it down quite quickly enough, however, and she knew he had seen it when he blinked, his mouth opening slightly and then closing again on a hard swallow, suddenly awkward and nervous. It was as though he had just realized how she might perceive his stance.

Some of the anger in his eyes dissipated as he eased slightly to the side, standing beside the door rather than fully blocking it, holding his hands out to the sides in a gesture that was clearly meant to be reassuring to her that he didn't intend to go after her if she didn't intend to come after him. He was still angry with her - furious, in fact - but that fact only made it all the more imperative to him that he not do anything to physically intimidate her.

Brennan hated the perceived weakness that seemed to have such control over her, almost as much as she hated both the fact that he had seen her fear and his reaction to it. Every time he was so blatantly cautious about scaring her, it only increased her feeling of not being in control. Going away as she had done, writing everything out...it was supposed to have cured her of her powerlessness. She had spent 12 whole hours doing so. Clearly, she decided, psychology was as useless as she had believed.

A spark of rebellion ignited deep within her, causing her to step aggressively toward him, recklessly pushing the boundaries of her comfort level. With her own arms crossed across her chest, her chin jutting out in haughty challenge, she let anger creep into her own voice. "Why are you so upset?"

Being confronted about his anger seemed to reignite it in him, hotter than ever. "Why? Oh, I don't know, Bones...maybe because I've been through hell the last 24 hours tracking you down, wondering if you were dead or alive!"

She had started this now, and she wasn't going to back down. "That was _your_ choice, Booth, and hardly necessary. Didn't you receive my message? I told you that I was in no danger."

His hands came up in front of him in a frustrated motion that spoke of his growing desire to just _shake_ her. His words were clipped, pushed out between clenched teeth. "You just got out of the _hospital._ You're still having flashbacks where you don't even know where you are _._ You didn't tell anybody where you were going. You just _took off_."

His jaw muscle worked, and he didn't intend the next sentence to come out of his mouth. It just popped out before he could stop it. "Do you have _any idea_ how scared I was when Angela told me you were gone again?" The final words came out on little more than a whisper.

He had her complete, wordless attention now, however unintended it had been for him to make such a revealing statement. _'Great,'_ he silently and sarcastically berated himself; _'give her_ _another_ _reason to run.'_

With a sharp sigh, he shifted his weight, his hands going to his hips as he stared at her intently. "Why did you do it, Bones?"

"You know why, Booth. You said it yourself…I need time and space." She seemed less certain of herself, although she hadn't dropped the haughty stance.

His eyes flashed at her. "That's bullshit, Bones. What I said in the hospital was that I was willing to _give_ you time and space, and I have. I slept in the damn _waiting room._ The only reason I came to your apartment was because Angela thought you might hurt yourself. And you still tried to run, even before I got there."

She had no answer for that, and before he knew it he was asking the question that bothered him most:

"Why did you even bother to go to bat for me with Cullen?"

It was her turn to shift uncomfortably, but to her credit she didn't pretend not to understand the colloquialism or what he meant. "You didn't deserve to be arrested for something you didn't do."

"So that's it? Justice first, same as you'd do for anybody? Just didn't want to see an innocent man arrested?" The words sounded bitter, although he found himself still desperately hoping that she had meant what she said to Cullen. If she hadn't, then all was truly lost. She had unnerved him with her obvious moment of panic when he blocked the door, causing him to question even that wonderful moment when she had credited him with saving her life. If she had truly meant it, why would she still be acting frightened of him? Although some part of him had known it was naive to hope for such an instant fix, he had still wanted one so badly he could almost taste it.

He was searching her eyes with a great deal of intensity, and it was too much for her. She suddenly seemed to find the wall beside his head the most fascinating sight she had ever seen. "I didn't want you to lose your job, either."

"Why?" The question was immediate, his tone demanding an answer. "Did you mean a single word of what you said to him?"

"Yes!" Her eyes snapped back to him, the beginnings of anger again evident in them.

The questions were coming at a relentless pace now, his expression as hard as if she were a suspect under his interrogation. "I'm just trying to figure out why you even bothered to try to help me, Bones, if you were so hellbent on getting away from me!"

Something in her expression changed in that moment, and it was her turn to radiate total fury. All of the hurt, fear, betrayal and other difficult emotions she had been facing since she had learned of his intention not to accompany her home came spilling out in a rush. "I should be the one asking you that question, Booth!" She had taken another step closer until they were almost nose to nose. "Why did you even bother coming all the way to Albania to find me if you were just going to _desert_ me at the end?"

" _What?"_

"Angela said it, on the plane, and you've never denied it, Booth. How can you say anything to me about leaving when you were going to do the same thing?" She was out of control, days' worth of worries and insecurities pouring out, and her hands flew out and pushed angrily at his chest as she said it. He was already against the wall, and it caused him to rebound off of it a little in her direction.

His own eyes reflected the same lack of control he could see in hers. "For _you,_ Bones! I was going to leave for _you_! Do you think I _wanted_ to leave?" His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, trying to hold onto the thin thread of control he still grasped. "I came all the way around the world to _get_ you. Doesn't that tell you something _?_ "

He took a step away from her when he realized that he had been moving forward, closing even more of the already tiny distance between them. Trying to get himself under control before he could do something stupid like grab her by the arms and _make_ her listen to him, he moved away and began pacing, barely able to look at her. "Why did I try to leave _._ How can you even ask me that question? You were fucking _terrified_ of me, Bones, and I couldn't take it anymore! Do you know what it _felt_ like every time you ran from me or looked at me like I was some kind of monster? You all but accused me of trying to rape you, for God's sake!"

Confusion filled her eyes. "No, I didn't."

When he turned back to face her, his eyes were hard and cold. "No?" A horrible, bitter smirk contorted his handsome features. "Nice try, Bones. I appreciate it and all, but that's not really something a guy is likely to forget."

Seeing the honest confusion on her face, he sucked it up with a bitter sigh and spelled it out for her, every word cutting him like he was chewing on razor blades. "On the way to the airport I asked you if anybody had touched you or forced you. You said I was the only one."

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out for a moment. Shaking her head, she was finally able to speak. "I never said that, Booth."

A coarse, humorless chuckle came out. "Yes, you did. Just trust me on this one. My memory's pretty clear on that point." If only she knew how clear it was. He was destined to relive those words every day of his life, no matter the eventual outcome of their situation. For her to tell him it didn't happen was beyond preposterous.

"No!" Despite his insistence, she was quite certain she wouldn't have said such a thing. "You never asked me that question, Booth. And if you had, that wouldn't have been my response."

Utter defeat filled his eyes. "I did, and it was."

Frustration filled her. She had been so certain that she had remembered everything when she had written everything out in chronological order, but this entire line of questioning was foreign to her. "I don't remember, Booth. I wish that I did, but I don't." The entire van ride, in fact, was not something she had been able to remember very much of, lost as she had been in the after-effects of the drug Naji had given her.

Still needing to do _something_ to alleviate the look of pain on Booth's face anyway, she took a step closer to him again. "All I can say for certain is that I never thought _you_ tried to rape me."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes slipping shut as he rocked back on his heels. He wanted to believe her, more than anything. But...

His voice was ragged, pained. "Your screams at the time said otherwise, Bones."

Taking a deep breath, she said something that she had only just realized she had never told him. "I didn't know it was you then, Booth."

His eyes popped open at that one.

"When you pushed me onto the bed..." Her voice shook, and she turned to face away from him. "...and got on top of me, and I could feel..."

 _"Jesus!"_ He cut her off. He had known she had felt it. That was one thing. Letting her say it in that shaky voice was quite another. "I get the picture, Bones."

"No, Booth, I don't think you do." Her voice was stronger, filled with determination, and at least she turned to face him again though she avoided his eyes. "I did think I was about to be raped, but at the time I thought you were the archaeologist who initially kidnapped me - Edon Tolka."

Booth's mouth fell softly open, remembering the way she had looked through him at that moment. He had wondered, but had never gone too far down that road, choosing rather to take every single ounce of the fear he had seen in her eyes squarely onto his own shoulders.

"It's completely irrational, Booth, but when I opened my eyes, you were gone and Edon was just...there." Raising her eyes to his almost shyly, she quietly admitted the rest of it to him. "Last night, just before Angela called you, was the first time that I was fully able to _see_ what happened and that it was, in fact, you and not Edon the entire time. I _knew_ that, rationally. But when I would remember it, the faces kept...changing. In my flashback last night..."

"You saw _me_ attacking you," he finished, with an angry shake of his head, but the anger was now directed inward. The last traces of fury toward her had melted away like ice in the desert sun the moment she started talking about him pushing her onto that goddamned bed.

"No wonder you tried to run."

"But that's _not_ why, Booth. I came here to put everything into perspective. There were so many things that didn't make sense, and I just wanted..."

"So what happens now, Bones?" He didn't really mean to cut her off, but it was the question that consumed him. "Can you ever work with me again? Can you even stand to be around me?"

She was opening her mouth to answer, way too quickly in his opinion, but he needed her to know one more thing.

"Just listen a minute, okay? You don't have to run because of me, Bones. I would never want to ruin your career for you. If you need me out of your life, I'll do that for you. Another agent can be assigned as liaison. You don't have to leave everything you love to get rid of me."

Finally, she was able to get her sentence out, the one she had been focusing on ever since he asked if she could still work with him. "You weren't fired?"

He hadn't expected that. "What? No. Cullen said...wait, you thought Cullen fired me?"

The profound relief on her face, the way it almost buckled her knees as she went near boneless with the impact of it, absolutely fascinated him. But he only got a moment to revel in it as her words left his head spinning.

"Oh, thank God," she managed. Looking at him sharply as she realized what she had said, she qualified her outburst. "Which, as usual, I only say as a figure of speech."

He had to be missing something - _had_ to be. But how could he ask the right question when he needed to know the answer in order to even formulate the question?

"Why are you so relieved about that, Bones?" _Did_ she still want to work with him? Or was it something more than that?

She averted her eyes, slowly retreating and putting distance between them, her voice hesitant again. "I thought I had cost you your career as well."

For just a moment, he couldn't breathe as two-and-two slammed together in his head to make four. She had tried to apologize to him in her apartment, during that intense middle-of-the-night meeting when they couldn't tear their eyes away from each other. She had said something about ruining things for him. He hadn't pursued it at the time, but he was damn sure going to this time.

"As well? As well as what?"

The fact that she suddenly couldn't look at him or get far enough away from him did nothing to ease the sudden onset of nerves he had. His gut had never failed him, and it was screaming at him that this was something he had better pay attention to. Her next words, spoken as she pointedly turned her back on him, did even less to calm him.

"As well as ... your relationship."

He could only stare at her. "My _what_?"

"I overheard you in the hospital, Booth, as Russ was leaving. I know that you sacrificed your relationship and a chance at marriage to come and find me. I don't blame you for resenting me for it. I'm truly sorry."

The room abruptly seemed too small, like the walls were closing in on him.

"Bones."

Licking his suddenly dry lips, he approached her with the utmost caution. This was one conversation he did not intend to mess up. "What exactly did you hear me say?"

It was her turn for her eyes to slip shut, her turn to repeat words that felt like dragging a razor blade across raw wounds. "Exactly what you said, Booth. That you wanted marriage with your romantic partner, and that you ruined it for nothing."

He was still slowly approaching her, unable to believe what he was hearing, shocked at the thinly veiled pain he heard in her voice. "That's all you heard?"

Her back was still turned to him, but her single nod answered his question.

"And what exactly did you think I meant?"

He heard her soft, pained intake of breath and almost relented in pushing her. But this was too important. He _needed_ to know.

"I wasn't sure at first," she began honestly, and only partially as a bid to stall for time. "But Angela, and even you, confirmed my conclusion."

He was right behind her now, close enough that it made her jump when she felt his breath slightly move her hair as he spoke. "And what was your conclusion?" He held his breath, hands twitching at his sides in barely restrained desire to touch her, wanting to be sure before he acted.

"That you had a relationship you had kept secret from me. And that you ruined it, as you said, for… nothing." Her voice was so quiet that it was amazing he could hear her, but he heard every word like it was coming through a loudspeaker.

"And you thought you were the 'nothing'." It wasn't a question. He already knew the answer. His tone was low and gravelly, completely indecipherable to her.

Booth's heart was pounding fiercely, realizing just how badly the idea of him with somebody else had hurt her. It told him everything he needed to know, and he found himself once again cursing Edon Tolka, Kreshnik Benjamin, and even the dead son of a bitch that had had the audacity to die hundreds of years ago and then get dug up for her to identify. If not for all three of them, he would know exactly how to handle this situation and leave _no doubt in her mind_ exactly what he had meant: it would involve her, him, the door she had shoved him against earlier, and his tongue in her mouth. Even the urge to spin her around, lock his arms around her and just not let go until she believed without question that he loved her was an idea that he might not have been able to resist, if not for what all three of those bastards had put them both through.

He would have to find another way to convince her without scaring her to death or triggering a damned flashback, but never had he been more determined

"Yes." She finally, hesitantly whispered the answer he already knew, moving to step away as she became unnerved by his proximity.

She never finished that step.

Before she could move even one inch away from him, Booth's hands landed lightly on her shoulders, stopping her. "Bones."

Turning her gently despite her mild resistance, he tenderly framed her face with both hands. "Temperance… look at me. You look me in my eyes."

Thrown off balance by the unyieldingly serious but soft air of commanding in his words, she complied and lifted blue eyes to him, allowing him to see the beginnings of tears there. It squeezed his heart tightly enough to temporarily render him speechless, but only for a moment. This was one misconception he was putting an end to immediately.

"Good. Now you hear what I'm about to say, and don't forget it. You were right that I had a secret from you. But you were wrong about what it was."

She was looking at him curiously, and he wanted to kick himself a hundred times over when he realized that she truly had no clue how he felt about her. But she was certainly going to in a moment.

"The only relationship I have, want to have, or give a damn about ruining is the one I have with you." He watched her eyes go wide, and took a step impossibly closer, his breath whispering on her face as he continued to hold her focus. "You completely misunderstood me, Bones. When I said I wanted marriage, and babies, and _everything_ , there's only one person I want any of that with."

Drawing a deep, nervous breath, he finally said the words to her that had been burning a hole through his heart ever since he got on the plane to Albania in the first place. "I _love_ you, Temperance Brennan. _You._ I'm so in love with you I can't see straight. And don't you dare tell me that's irrational or a scientific impossibility, because I know better. And yes, I want all of those things with you, and more. But what I was trying to say in that hospital was that I'd give all of them up, just to be with you any way you'd have me. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you, Bones. That's _all_ I care about."

Her eyes were searching his, shock and disbelief written all over her face, and he waited patiently as his words sunk in. "You…love _me_ ," she repeated after long moments. It was a question whether she made it sound like one or not.

His thumbs where they rested against her soft cheeks began to move of their own volition, softly caressing and soothing her as he tried to put into his words the depth of emotion he was feeling. "More than you'll ever know."

She was still trying to process it and he could see that, watching as the first question formed in her mind and instantly escaped her lips. "But when you said you ruined it for nothing..."

That was a can of worms he didn't dare open with her if she hadn't heard it the first time - the fact that he feared he had put her through his entire performance for nothing was a burden he intended to bear alone. What was so much more important was that she _never_ think of herself as 'nothing', ever again. His hands slipped down to her shoulders, sliding just a little farther down to tighten on her upper arms, drawing her closer to make sure she understood. "I can't believe you thought that, Bones. You're not 'nothing,' and I never want to hear you say that again. You're _everything_ to me."

There was just one more thing he needed her to know, and it seemed so important that he didn't even see the change in her eyes, barely noticed as her hand came to rest first on his arm, then moved up to touch his face searchingly. "You never have to worry about me abandoning you, Bones. You have my word: I'm here until you make me go. I love..."

His words were cut off in the sweetest way he could have ever imagined, when her soft lips suddenly pressed against his, in a way that erased all the doubts in _his_ mind: she loved him back.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Her mind was racing, trying to process the overwhelming flood of information. She could only focus on one fact: Booth _loved_ her. In rapid fire sequence, a thousand memories, moments and feelings flooded her: the contentment she always felt in his presence; the uncomfortable feeling she had acknowledged in Albania as meaning that she missed him; his protectiveness of her and how safe it made her feel even when it annoyed her; the pangs she had felt when she saw him with Tessa, Cam, and Rebecca; the strong desire to be in his arms almost since the moment she left D.C.; the intense pain she had experienced when she believed he was in love with someone else; how very, very relieved she was at this moment that he didn't have another lover.

She couldn't go so far as to say that she loved him back, not when she wasn't sure she really believed in the concept; but from what Booth had taught her about love, and based on all the evidence, she believed that it might be a possibility.

And every theory needs testing.

Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed him tentatively, searchingly, surprised by how pleasing it was to feel his lips against hers. It wasn't that she had never imagined such a moment with him, and much more. She _had_ , many times, convincing herself it was nothing more than a completely understandable physical attraction between two people who spent a lot of time together. But kissing a man, while pleasurable in its own right, had always been more of a means to an end...a mere step on the journey toward sexual intercourse. Kissing Booth was a different experience entirely.

He hesitated for a moment when she first made contact, but recovered quickly, his lips opening over hers and taking control of the kiss in a way that left no doubt he was sincere about every word he had said. His hands released her arms, one sliding up to cup the nape of her neck, the other sliding around her back and holding her gently but firmly against him as his lips softly caressed hers. It wasn't a greedy, demanding kiss of the type she was used to receiving, pushing for more and only speaking of a desire to get her into bed. He didn't even move to deepen it. Instead, Booth's kiss was tender, taking his time, and yet not lacking in passion in any way.

He _loved_ her.

ooo … ooo … ooo

He knew he needed to stop it the moment her lips met his. He knew it was a bad idea. And yet he could no more bring himself to push her away than he could have allowed her to go on thinking he loved someone else. He just wasn't capable of it. If this was the only way she could return his declaration of love, he wasn't going to rebuff her.

He took over the kiss instead, slanting his mouth over hers, pouring all of his love for her into worshipping her lips. Ignoring his mind screaming at him that he needed to get his hands off of her immediately, he slid one arm around her and the other to the back of her neck, pulling her against him. It felt like heaven.

He made no effort to deepen the kiss any further, somehow maintaining enough control to keep it sweet, tender. But when she moaned into his mouth and pressed herself more tightly against him, opening her lips in clear invitation, the reality of the situation finally cracked through his addled brain.

"Bones, wait."

They were in the middle of a goddamned roach motel, which just happened to be the place she had run to get _away_ from him after having a flashback about him trying to rape her. What the hell was he _doing?_ Hadn't he just promised himself the day before on the way to her apartment that he would keep his hands off of her until she... _they_ were ready? Whatever was happening at that moment, he knew she wasn't ready.

When she only went after him more passionately, grabbing at his shirt and straining for his lips, he pulled back, grasping her hands and holding them still between their bodies. Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he tried to soften his rejection with a soft smile, bringing her hands to his lips and planting an adoring kiss on each. "We don't have to be in a hurry. You're not ready for this. After everything you've been through..."

The flash that went across her eyes looked more like anger than anything else, stopping his words and making him slightly uncomfortable.

But when she smiled back at him seductively a moment later, breaking her hands free and running them up his chest, he pushed it to the back of his mind.

And what she said next snapped his good intentions in two.

"I'm not afraid of you, Booth. You said you love me. Prove it."

She couldn't have known what effect her first sentence would have on him after what he had put himself through for hurting her. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing she could have said, pushing him over the edge even more surely than her expression of physical desire for him.

Knowing she wanted him was powerful enough after so many years of wanting her silently. Actually hearing her say she wasn't afraid of him… it was like throwing gasoline on a raging fire.

This time there was no hesitancy when his lips crashed into hers, all thoughts of being tentative and careful flying from his head as both arms snaked around her waist hard, pulling her against him in a fervent attempt to do _exactly_ what she had asked of him. His tongue swept across her lips immediately, demanding and gaining entrance as he began to feverishly explore her mouth for the first time, his knees almost buckling when she groaned her approval.

All thought gone from his mind, he kept kissing her until they both desperately needed air.

But he didn't pull away, even when his lips left hers. He needed something even worse than air. He needed to erase the last damn trace of his touch being a bad memory instead of a good one. Carefully, gently, he allowed his lips to stray downward toward her throat, clutching her against him even more tightly as years worth of pent-up desire was finally unleashed.

Until the moment that she went stiff as a board in his arms, and he realized his mistake.

ooo … ooo … ooo

When he pushed her away from him after her first kiss, Brennan's first terrifying thought was that she had misunderstood his intentions.

That almost seemed preferable a moment later, when she learned that he was pushing her away because of what had happened in Albania.

Irrationally, anger shot through her. She was getting tired of this - tired of not being able to control her own reactions, tired of everyone else seeing it and treating her like a weak, helpless child.

Powerlessness.

When he grabbed at her hands and stilled them, making her feel momentarily trapped, the sudden spark of fear she experienced only angered her more at her own powerlessness.

But at the same time that his grabbing her hands made her illogically frightened, Booth's overprotective caution and understanding were worse. It only made her feel _more_ powerless - a victim to be coddled, protected, babied. It was an enraging thought for someone so intent on independence.

Powerlessness. It was like the word was stuck on continuous loop in her brain, and she was starting to _hate_ it.

Confront the issue head on, Sweets had said.

She was going to do exactly that.

The nightmares. The flashbacks - all of them revolving around him and his body, at least in some way. They were only symptoms of the _real_ issue.

And the real issue, as she saw it, was her irrational fear response to Booth's proximity and to feeling trapped by him.

She would take control of all of it, and she would do it in a way that could leave no doubt that she was in control of her reactions. She would do so by taking control of her own body, going right to the source of the problem.

And so she told him what they both so desperately wanted to be true. "I'm not afraid of you, Booth."

In some ways it was actually true, on so many levels. It held true even when he claimed her mouth in a frenzy of lips, tongue and teeth, with an intensity that could only be described as staking his claim. He was making her his in a way that she should have resented. But rather than angering her by its possessiveness or frightening her by its intensity, it instead sent a pool of liquid fire right to her core, yanking a heated groan from her that he instantly swallowed.

But moments later, when those same lips that had been bringing her such intense pleasure began to blaze a trail across her jaw and down her throat, she discovered just exactly how powerless she still was - just exactly how right Sweets had been.

The realization devastated her. She wasn't ready for this. She didn't see how she ever could be.

She valiantly fought against it, trying to conceal the terror that went through her when his lips landed on her neck, reminding her all too vividly of a moment she had seen in her nightmares repeatedly over the past few days. Determined not to let him see it, she gripped him tightly, fully intent on proving to herself and to him that she was in control of her own fears.

It was too late, she realized, when he froze against her, pulling back and looking at her with wide eyes. He had felt her reaction.

"I can't." She tore away from him then, turning her back on him in humiliated frustration. "I'm sorry, Booth. I can't do this."

"Bones, it's okay." She could feel him hovering behind her, could almost feel his hands just millimeters from her skin, wanting to reassure her but holding back. It only confirmed to her that what she was about to do was the right thing for them both.

Booth was still stammering, his pleading voice sounding as panic-stricken as she felt. "I should have known better, Bones. I _did_ know better. I'm so, so sorry. We'll take it slower, I promise."

"No!" She wheeled on him, hands extended in warning, needing to make him understand. "I mean I can't do this at all. I'm sorry, Booth. This was a mistake. I don't return your feelings."

Making her way to the door, she held out a hand to stop him when he started to come to her, unable to look at him for fear of seeing the pain that she knew was there, and for fear of him seeing what had to be equal pain in her own eyes. "Don't follow me. I'm taking a cab and going home. I'll be at work tomorrow. I'll see you when we have a case."

She could still feel his eyes on her when she closed the door behind her and fled, leaving him alone in the small, dirty room.

Ooo … ooo … ooo

Temperance Brennan pushed her way into the lobby of the tiny motel, her agitation evident in the way she violently shoved the door open. She had already called for a cab from her cell phone on the way from the room to the office, which had effectively given her something to focus on. It was the only thing that helped maintain her resolve in the face of an almost overwhelming desire to run back to Booth and tell him she didn't mean it.

She didn't want to talk to a soul or do anything other than check herself out of the motel, go home, and bury herself in any task that could insulate her from the raging emotional storm she was weathering - a storm that threatened to sink her, as she had just lost her emotional compass. She was reeling from the enormity of what had just happened between her and Booth, and keeping herself occupied was her only defense.

Dropping her room key on the desk and turning to leave, she wanted to groan when the over-friendly desk clerk decided to question her.

"Are you all right, Miss?"

"I'm fine," she threw over her shoulder, already pulling open the door to leave.

"You know, the FBI was in here not 20 minutes ago looking for you," he called after her curiously.

She froze in her tracks at the reference to Booth, unintentionally inviting further conversation.

"I figured the guy was here to arrest you. He looked plenty pissed off."

She had no doubt that was true, but also that the FBI agent in question probably hadn't been half as 'pissed off' then as he undoubtedly was now. The tears that she had been ruthlessly pushing back threatened to fall, and she forced her feet to start moving again, propelling her from the lobby without any answer for the nosy desk clerk.

Her cab hadn't arrived yet, so she sat down on the curb in front of the building, intentionally putting her back to the government-issue black SUV that sat in the fire lane in front of the motel with the driver's door wide open, as though someone had been in too much of a hurry to park correctly or bother with the door. Booth was nowhere in sight, but she knew exactly where he was. She could almost feel his eyes on her, watching her through the window of the room she had left him in.

When the cab finally pulled up, she chanced a glance over her shoulder as she climbed in, seeing Booth emerge from the room. Even from a distance, she could see the look on his face. Quickly, she turned away, but not quite fast enough: he had frozen in place for only an instant when she looked at him, but it was enough for her to know he had caught her looking. For some reason, it only caused the tears to prick even more insistently against her lashes.

As the cab wound through the streets to take her home, she didn't have to turn around to know that she might or might not _see_ a black SUV behind them if she were to look, but that it was most certainly there somewhere.

Even the near certainty that he was watching her get home safe wasn't enough to keep the frustrated, angry, tears of utter powerlessness from finally beginning to fall, unable to wait for the solitude of home.

ooo … ooo … ooo

He had no clue what in God's name had made him do it.

Oh, he knew why he had kissed her. That wasn't the question.

He had wanted to do that for years. He had been _so damn scared_ for the better part of a week, both in Albania and over the last 24 hours, that he would never see her again. Having her in front of him, alive and safe, had filled him with an insurmountable desire to kiss her until both of their knees buckled, until he was completely convinced that she was safe in his arms forever and would never be missing or in danger again.

But those weren't the main reasons, and he knew it.

He wouldn't have done it for those reasons alone, no matter how badly he wanted to. He wouldn't have risked it - wouldn't have risked _her._

No, he had kissed her because she had kissed _him -_ because she had made the first move, shocking him and overwhelming him with the amazing knowledge that she actually loved him back. Of all the scenarios he had envisioned when he gathered his courage and told her how much he loved her, her kissing him had honestly never crossed his mind. Her kissing him in a way that left no doubt his feelings were returned had almost made him question if he was dreaming. He had no defense planned for it.

And he had kissed her because he knew - he _knew_ \- that pushing her away would have been just as big of a mistake as kissing her in return; that kissing him was her way of _saying_ she loved him back without having to risk the actual words.

And she _did_ love him back _._

He knew that now, without question. She could say whatever she wanted, and it hurt like hell to hear her say that she didn't return his feelings. But it was already far too late by the time she said it: there was no denying what she had already revealed to him with that first sweet, tender, hesitant kiss. For somebody that didn't do emotion, she had sure packed a hell of a lot of it into those few moments of contact. She had made his head spin with the pure _need_ for him that he had felt radiating from her - a little bit _too_ much so.

It had made him so intent on giving her what she was _asking_ of him that he had completely forgotten to be more worried about what she _needed_ from him right then. She had needed him to be the strong one and protect her from herself, regardless of how much she would balk at wording it that way, and he had failed her. He had let his own need, fear and years' worth of desire get the better of him in the face of her obvious desire for him. And he knew he was going to get to pay for that. He knew it the very instant that he recovered from his initial shock and let his body take over for his brain.

But even that hadn't been his biggest mistake.

His kissing her in return - that first, sweet, slow kiss - hadn't seemed to be a problem for her. It hadn't seemed to be a problem for either of them. It had felt so damn _right._

No, his downfall had begun when he tried to do the right thing and she pushed him for more, telling him she wasn't afraid of him. In his own defense, she couldn't have picked a worse lie to tell him - it was the one thing he wanted so badly to be true. He wanted it so much, in fact, that he had evidently lost his mind when it crossed her lips, urging him to throw four years of careful caution to the wind in a desperate bid to prove to himself that it _was_ true, also tossing out the window every one of the lectures he had given himself in the past days and even hours about taking things slow.

But even _then_ , when he had taken her at her word and kissed her like he wanted to devour her - which wasn't far from the truth - she had met him just as aggressively, responding to him like no woman ever had before. Again, that _need_ he felt from her was a heady, almost disorienting rush he had never experienced before.

It made him believe her - believe that she wasn't frightened of him.

It made him want to prove it, like she said... to put fear behind them forever.

It made him want to run his lips down that creamy throat and soothe and erase what had happened the first time, replacing pain with pleasure.

It sounded like such a fantastic idea.

But he still didn't know why in God's name he had gone through with it or what made him think it would turn out that way.

Not even 24 hours of pure, panicked sleeplessness tracking her down, tacked onto the end of a sleepless and worried night spent on her apartment floor, all coming at the end of a rollercoaster ride of epic proportions could begin to explain to him why he had let his control slip and taken such a huge risk.

His lips had been on her gorgeous, velvety neck almost before he realized it, relishing the fact that they had permission to be there, trying to erase the bad memories of the last time for both of them, memorizing the taste of her...and that was when reality hit.

He realized the full impact of what he was doing a split second before he felt her gripping him, not in passion this time but in panic. He had almost been afraid to look at her when he froze and pulled back away from her, but what he saw there was worse than he could have imagined.

"I can't!" Her words ripped through him, making him want to fall right through the floor and disappear. How could he have hurt her the same way twice?

He had been right on her heels when she moved away from him, fingers hovering so close to her skin that he could still feel the warmth of her, desperate to reassure her. "It's okay, Bones."

She didn't have to tell him he had screwed up. She didn't have to tell him how _bad_ he had screwed up. No one was more aware of it than him. If there was one thing he now knew, it was that a quick fix was a pipe dream and that they had a long road ahead of them.

He had screwed up, but he was damn sure going to fix it and then not do it again. He would do _anything_ to fix it.

Desperate to make her understand, to make her see that it would _never_ happen again, he felt words continue to spill from his lips, apologizing and promising her they would take it slower. She was scaring him to death at least as badly as he had scared her.

"No!" She had turned on him so fast that he almost jumped back. "I mean I can't do this at all. I'm sorry, Booth. This was a mistake. I don't return your feelings."

The only reason it didn't kill him on the spot when she then turned and started for the door was that he didn't believe a word of it.

Even if it hadn't been for the fact that she couldn't manage to look at him when she said it, and even if it weren't true that she never had been able to lie worth a damn to him, her cards had been on the table since the moment she whimpered into his mouth while busily turning his insides to mush with that first kiss.

Hell, her cards were on the table the very second he figured out that what had her so upset was her belief that he was in love with somebody else.

The fact that she could have believed that for one single moment still floored him; the fact that it upset her - made her _jealous_ \- completely dumbfounded him. Suddenly, a lot of things since that moment in the hospital made sense.

She was running, and while that fact by itself still didn't exactly do good things for his heart, at least it didn't have a thing to do with her not returning his feelings.

It had everything to do with the fact that she _did_ return his feelings _._ It was what he had promised himself not to do since the moment he came to the gut-twisting realization that he was in love with his partner: he had pushed too hard, and now she was in full flight mode. Only this was even worse than he had ever imagined it.

He had every intention of following her to the door as she tried to leave, and he was more than a little tempted to drop down on his knees and beg when he got there. Knowing without a doubt that she loved him back didn't mean he wasn't still terrified to let her walk out that door. He had no misconceptions about the fact that she could deny her feelings until the day they both died, and that getting through to her - and soon - was of the utmost importance.

She had stopped him with one insistent hand, a command not to follow her - _was she kidding?_ \- and a promise that she was going home and would be at work the next day.

Although he knew she was telling the truth and that he had no choice but to let her go, he also knew he would be ignoring her order not to follow. She had really lost her mind if she thought he wasn't going to make sure she got home safely. It wasn't even an option at this point, after coming this far - not when she was still so volatile and also so upset.

Watching her straightbacked posture through the window as she waited for her cab was painful, and also gave him a slightly uncomfortable feeling of guilt. He really didn't want to add stalking to his impressively growing mental list of sins and crimes against her, but that was exactly how it made him feel.

Hoping against hope that she was going to relent and run back into his arms when she caught sight of him leaving the room almost tore him apart. He had known she wouldn't. It hadn't stopped him from hoping, and it didn't change the fact that it broke his heart when she didn't.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Angela had dutifully stayed at Brennan's apartment despite the lack of any news from Booth, not having the heart to call him for information and risk getting his hopes up for even a moment that she had found her.

The key turning in the lock made her jump to her feet, and yet somehow Brennan was the last person she was expecting to enter her own apartment.

It was clear from her shocked expression that Brennan was just as surprised to see _her,_ having forgotten that Angela would be there.

"Brennan!" Angela ran straight to her, hugging her before she ever had a chance to even look at her. "Oh my God, where have you been?"

Pulling back to look at her, Angela was first struck by the tear marks and how completely shell shocked her friend looked. "Oh, Bren...what _happened?"_ Suddenly remembering her promise, Angela didn't even give Brennan a chance to answer. "Hold that thought - I need to call Booth and let him know you're okay."

"No!" Brennan stopped her a little too sharply and desperately, setting off alarm bells in Angela's head. "He knows. He knows I'm here. Don't call him."

Angela opened and then closed her mouth once in shocked silence. She had seen the way Booth tore out of the apartment to look for her. _No way_ she was there now without him if he knew her whereabouts. No. Way.

It was then that she took a closer look at Brennan's face. In first noticing the tears, she had missed the still too-pink, kiss-swollen lips and the tell-tale light redness around her mouth that hadn't yet completely faded from Brennan's pale skin. She had missed the tousled hair that screamed to the world that somebody's fingers had been in it.

Suddenly, Angela had a terrible, horrifying scenario run through her mind, one that would explain Booth's absence. It actually sounded more like something _she_ would do than Brennan, but she wasn't putting anything past her at this point.

"Oh God...Bren... _tell_ me that Booth didn't find you with some guy. Just...please tell me that."

"No."

The one-word answer was music to the artist's ears. "Thank God. Because Booth really doesn't deserve to be sitting in a jail cell right now for murder, and that's exactly what would have happened at this point. And I'd be sitting right next to him about 20 minutes afterwards, for murdering _you_."

It didn't escape Angela's notice that Brennan seemed to be acting almost on autopilot when she gave an answer, no life in her voice at all.

"They don't actually house the male and female inmates together, Angela."

The words were classic Brennan, avoiding the real issue and focusing on semantics, but she was obviously distracted and her heart really wasn't in it. She seemed...lost. Softening some at her friend's obvious distress, Angela put an arm around Brennan and guided her to the couch.

"Yeah, I know, sweetie. I've been to jail, remember? Contempt of court? I went because I _love_ you, and that's exactly why you're going to let me help you now - because I _do_ love you. What happened, Bren? Obviously Booth found you. Why isn't he here now? Talk to me."

The last thing Brennan wanted to do was talk about it. By that point, all she really wanted to do was...well, anything that would take her mind off of Booth until she could react rationally again. She had only just admitted to herself in words what she must have known on some level for a long time - that she did, indeed, love her partner, in all the ways that he defined the term. And she had just hurt him, deeply.

But, she fully believed that it was nothing compared to the damage she would have done to both of them by leading him on and letting him believe that she could have any type of real relationship with him - not when she couldn't even let him kiss her neck without panicking and wanting to run. Booth might display some prudish tendencies at times, but she was fairly confident that even he would expect a relationship to involve sexual intercourse. And despite the rush of sexual arousal she had experienced during his kisses before he touched her neck, the thought of being in bed with Booth or any other man was suddenly one that prompted an intensely fearful response. On top of that, she no longer believed that these irrational impulses would simply go away. She had followed Sweets' advice to the letter, and nothing had changed.

What made things even worse was that she was quite certain she had destroyed more than just a chance for a personal relationship with Booth. With just a few words, she had almost certainly destroyed the most rewarding friendship _and_ working partnership she had ever enjoyed.

"Brennan?" Angela hadn't received an answer, so she shifted tactics. "Did you and Booth have a fight? Why isn't he here with you?" _'And who kissed you,'_ her mind screamed, but she didn't dare breach that topic quite yet. If it wasn't Booth, she wasn't sure she could keep her more homicidal instincts under control - or even if it _was_ Booth, for that matter. What were either of them thinking?

Brennan was not able to entirely keep the tears out of her voice when she finally relented and haltingly gave Angela the first piece of the puzzle.

"No, we didn't argue. He said he's in love with me, Angela. He said that at the hospital he was talking about me, and not another woman. We apparently misunderstood the meaning of his words. _"_

Angela's face expressed every ounce of the confusion she was feeling. "Whoa, Bren - _we_ misunderstood?" Blinking a few times, she tried to decide where to start. "Okay, first of all - Booth and another woman? Not a chance in hell. That man has been off the market for a long time now, and I knew that before _either_ of you. I didn't misunderstand anything. And second, Booth being in love with you? In what universe is _that_ news _?_ No one doubted that for a second, Sweetie - no one. Other than maybe you."

As more and more of her beliefs over the past days came unraveled before her eyes, Brennan felt more lost by the second. It was almost as disorienting as the sensation of not knowing what was real or not real in Albania, as though her ability to distinguish reality from nonreality had begun to elude her at some point during her ordeal and she just couldn't reclaim it. With each misstep she made, her sense of powerlessness only increased.

"But you said that what Booth said made you sick." She was so desperate to understand that she almost sounded pouty.

Angela's mouth fell open. "Sweetie, I was talking about what Booth had to do to _save_ you - not him finally telling the world that he's head over heels in love with you. I thought you knew that he had just told me about what happened in Albania."

When a few moments passed and Brennan didn't say more, Angela again pushed for answers. "So what happened then, Bren? Booth told you he loved you, and then what? How did we get to you here crying and Booth nowhere in sight?"

Brennan's eyes squeezed shut for a moment as though steeling herself, before focusing back on Angela with a look that held growing determination. "I kissed him."

Under any other circumstances, the look on Angela's face might have been comical. "Oh."

 _'_ _She_ _kissed_ _him_ _? And she kissed him like..._ _that_ _?'_ Somehow, Angela cleared her throat and forced her voice to work. "And I can see he - he kissed you back?"

Brennan confirmed it with a nod, her look growing more determined by the moment. After floundering helplessly since leaving the motel, for the first time her overwrought mind had clear direction. If Angela so much as suspected her real reason for telling Booth she didn't return his feelings, she would almost certainly interfere. Painful though it had been, she had convinced Booth she didn't love him. If she wanted to avoid having to do so again, then she had to convince Angela. Having a goal to accomplish steadied her somewhat, allowing her to focus on achieving it.

"It was a mistake, Angela. I never should have kissed him. I don't return Booth's feelings for me, and I told him so. I'm going back to work tomorrow, and we will resume our professional partnership."

Angela's color had drained more with each word, as her eyes grew larger. "And Booth...agreed to this?"

The slight flick of her eyes to the ground betrayed Brennan, as did her hesitancy to answer. It gave Angela the opportunity to pounce.

"No, Bren. Of course he didn't. Because this is insane, and I'm pretty sure Booth isn't crazy. Except about you."

Her voice was as serious as Brennan had ever heard it when she continued her appeal. "Think this through, Brennan, _all_ the way, before you make the biggest mistake of your life. The most jaw-droppingly gorgeous man I've ever seen - one who went _all the way around the world_ and killed God knows how many people to protect you, by the way - tells you that he's head over heels in love with you, you kiss passionately, and then you just decide to take it back and break his heart by saying 'See you at work?' What's _really_ going on here, Brennan? Because you can be cold and a little too rational, but you're not cruel. And this...this is cruel."

The tears that filled Brennan's eyes and the stricken look that crossed her face were actually a relief to Angela - they said that the friend she knew was still in there somewhere.

Brennan was barely able to restrain the tears at that point. Why couldn't Angela understand? She was trying to protect herself, but she was trying to protect Booth as well. It would be incredibly unfair to expect him to stay with a woman who could barely be in his presence without treating him as though he were some type of criminal to be feared. And Booth would almost certainly stay until the day he couldn't take it anymore - he had promised not to abandon her, and she was finally beginning to fully understand that Booth _always_ kept his promises.

But that day would almost certainly come when even he could no longer bear such a situation, and he would leave her - just like everyone else she ever loved. She had enough difficulty believing that a longterm monogamous relationship could possibly work even under the best circumstances. To attempt to begin one under circumstances such as theirs could only end in hurting them both. No, it was imperative that she convince Angela she _didn't_ love him at all so that Angela wouldn't meddle and hurt either of them even more. And maybe they could even salvage their working relationship, if not their friendship.

"I realize that I hurt him, Angela. But it wouldn't be fair to either of us to let him believe I love him back when I don't."

Angela grabbed her by the shoulders, having to remind herself not to shake her. "But you _do_ love him back, Brennan! If you're honest with yourself, you know you do. Is it that you're just afraid? Because Sweetie, Booth's not going to hurt you. He _adores_ you. He's not going to leave you, or..."

"I know he wouldn't, Angela!" It was all too much. Trying to carry out such an elaborate lie had never been one of her strengths. Trying to do it while wracked with guilt, emptiness and a loneliness so profound that it was almost a physical ache was enough to crack her facade. Pushing Angela's hands away, she pushed to her feet and her voice rose until she was almost shouting. "And yes, I am afraid! I don't want to be, but almost every time he gets too close, I am _definitely_ afraid. It's not fair to him, Angela. I can't give him any of the other things he wants - the marriage, or the children, or any of that. How can I ask him to stay if sex is not part of the equation either?"

Angela slowly rose to her feet. "Brennan, listen to me. You know Booth even better than I do. You know what kind of man he is. You think this is just about _sex_ to him? If you think for one minute that he's going to let sex rip the two of you apart, especially after..."

"No! No, Angela. I'm not talking about this anymore." Brennan took a step closer, her eyes desperate. "I want you to promise me you're not going to meddle. My decision is made and it's not going to change. If you interfere, you're only going to give Booth false hope and hurt him even more. _Promise me,_ Angela."

Seeing how out of control her friend was becoming, Angela did the only thing she could to calm her down. "Okay - okay, Brennan, calm down. I promise, okay? I promise to just...be your best friend. I promise."

Having extracted the promise, Brennan was already on her way to her bedroom. "Thank you, Angela. You're welcome to stay, but I'm going back to work first thing in the morning."

By the time the bedroom door closed behind her, Brennan had already viciously fought down the urge to cry. She was not going to give into it. She was going to go to bed, get up the next day, and start her life all over again - this time, without letting anybody close enough to _ever_ cause her to feel so much pain again. She had lost those she loved and compartmentalized before, until she barely felt the pain. She would do so again.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

 _Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang._

Lance Sweets, after spending so much time at the hospital with his two favorite patients, had finally run out of steam in the very early afternoon and had cleared his afternoon calendar in favor of going home to sleep. No sooner had he drifted off, however, than he sat straight back up in bed from a sound sleep, heart pounding. Someone was pounding on his front door - no, someone was trying to _break down_ his door. "Oh God," he whispered, pulling the covers up toward his head as though that would in some way protect him.

Just as he was truly about to panic, he heard a familiar voice. "Sweets! Open the door!"

 _Bang, bang, bang, bang._

After a greatly exaggerated sigh of pure relief, he managed to make his way on still shaky legs to his door. "Booth! What are you doing here?"

The FBI Agent pushed past him into his house, looking like 40 miles of bad road - which was exactly how he felt, having driven straight from Brennan's apartment to the FBI building in search of Sweets, wasting time trying to find him before finally being told he was gone for the day and tracking him down at home.

"You weren't in your office." As though that explained everything.

Sweets sighed goodnaturedly, not even bothering to protest the fact that his house, like his office, now seemed to have a 24-hour-a-day welcome sign. If truth were told, he didn't mind, at least not this time. Booth definitely looked as though he could use a talk with a friend, if not a psychologist - followed by about a week of sleep. "How did you find me? I'm not listed."

For his goodnaturedness, Sweets received a scowl in return that could have frozen the sun. "I work for the FBI, you idiot. Sweets, listen...I need your help."

Wordlessly nodding and motioning for Booth to sit on his couch, he took a chair across from him, still unsure what role he was supposed to be playing - friend or therapist. "Anything - just tell me what you need, Booth." This time he left the word 'Agent' off purposely - he had made that mistake before, and wasn't going to do it again. The tiny smile that was so barely there it might have even been a figment of his imagination told him that Booth understood and was prepared to talk - as a friend.

"I screwed up. I screwed up huge." After that admission, Booth sat looking at Sweets with questioning eyes, as though that alone should explain everything.

"Okay," Sweets nodded. "Go on. What do you need from me?"

Booth's lips pressed into a thin line, his knee suddenly bouncing and hands twisting in a gesture that was classic nervousness. "Look, Sweets, I wouldn't even come to you with this. But you were standing there in the hospital. You heard what I said, so you already know how I feel about Bones."

Sweets nodded, somehow managing both to keep the gleeful expression off of his face _and_ refrain from mentioning the fact that he had already figured that one out, like, 'a wicked long time ago.'

"You also know..." Booth hesitated, looking uncomfortable, and Sweets continued to nod reassuringly. "You also know what I had to do to her, in Albania. Right?"

"Yes," Sweets affirmed as non-threateningly as possible, his inner jubilance fading with that reminder as he worked to keep his expression carefully neutral and without any expression that could be misconstrued as accusation. "I heard some of it, and Angela filled in the details for me at Brennan's apartment after you left for your meeting with Cullen."

Booth never even blinked at the revelation that Angela had shared what he told her. It would make what he was doing now easier - he wasn't sure he could survive telling the story again anyway - and it wasn't like he had told her not to say anything. He wasn't out to protect himself.

"Fine. And you saw the kind of flashbacks she's having, firsthand."

Sweets nodded once more, understanding why Booth needed to qualify his reasoning for coming to him. "Listen, Booth, if you're worried about the FBI..."

"I screwed up," Booth reiterated, cutting him off. "I don't give a damn about the FBI right now."

That single comment told Sweets exactly how serious Booth was, knowing as he did how much Booth respected the institution he had dedicated his life to. "All right. You screwed up," Sweets echoed. "What do you need from me, Booth? How can I help?"

Booth fixed him with a level gaze so full of determination that it was almost unsettling. "I need you to tell me how not to do it again. And how to fix it."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Clearing his throat as he felt the full gravity of what was being asked of him, Sweets did his best not to blink under the unnerving weight of Booth's determined stare. It felt very much as though the entire responsibility of stopping an impending train wreck with a BB gun had just landed in his lap. "I'll do my best, Booth. Perhaps you should start by telling me how you think you 'screwed up,' as you put it."

Booth's eyes were filled with certainty. "I don't _think_ I screwed up, Sweets. I _did_ screw up. I _keep_ screwing up, and I'm tired of it. I need you to tell me how I can stop making Bones be afraid of me." Sincerity practically radiated off of him as he finished softly. "How I can help her without making things worse."

Sweets' eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't react in any other way. "Okay. I'm glad to try, but I'll need a little more to go on than that. What happened? I know that Dr. Brennan left at some point after I dropped her off at home from Cullen's office. I take it that you found her."

Booth shifted somewhat uncomfortably. His usual method of operation with the psychologist was to tell him as little as possible. But this wasn't his usual type of problem: this was Bones. This was the most important thing in the world to him, and he had come to Sweets for help. He had already come this far, and now that he knew she loved him, he would go a lot farther in order to win her back. If dropping his normal skepticism and sarcasm was what it would take, so be it. His pride wasn't going to keep him warm at night.

"I found her in a hotel room just outside D.C. She thought Cullen had fired me, and she thought I wanted to marry another woman."

 _"What?"_ Sweets couldn't help the very unprofessional squawk that bubbled up and shot right out of his mouth. He knew his mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide, but he was shocked. Seeing the glare that Booth turned on him, he cleared his throat and recomposed himself. "I mean...very interesting. Go on. Why did she think that?" He still couldn't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.

Booth ran one hand through his hair. "That's all she got out of what I said in the hospital. She heard me talking about love and marriage and children, and she automatically thought I meant somebody else. In fact, she thought that my going to Albania to save her ruined my relationship. She actually thought I _resented_ her. She had no clue how I really feel about her."

From his awed tone and frustrated body language, it was clear to Sweets that the last two parts were what bothered Booth the most. "Did you tell her otherwise?"

Unable to stay in his seat, Booth was on his feet and pacing almost immediately, gesturing with his arms for emphasis. "Of course I told her otherwise, Sweets! I couldn't let her keep thinking that."

"You told her you love her."

That stopped Booth's frenetic movement, making him stop and stand completely still, his eyes closing in remembrance. "I know it was probably way too much too soon, but she had already basically heard me say I wanted to marry her. So yeah. I told her I love her. I told her that I'm _in_ love with her, and that I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

"Wow." Sweets was the one who sounded slightly awed this time, a tiny smile appearing to go along with his soft tone. He had always wondered when that day would come. Seeing Booth's worried look, however, he remembered that something had obviously gone very wrong. Booth looked like he was waiting for Sweets to tell him that he had completely traumatized Brennan forever with the decision to tell her, so Sweets hurried to reassure him.

"For what it's worth, Booth, I agree with your decision to be honest. If Dr. Brennan had already heard part of it and had the wrong impression, it was best to set the record straight. Whether or not the truth might be overwhelming, at that point there was nothing to gain by allowing her to continue with an erroneous belief, especially one that she found upsetting."

That appeared to make Booth feel slightly better, but not very much. He also suddenly seemed reluctant to go on with the story, so Sweets prodded gently. "So continue. How did she respond?"

Booth hesitated, suddenly struggling with his decision to carry through with talking to Sweets. How she had responded had been to blow his mind by kissing him like he was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted.

While he could readily accept the idea of opening his own actions up for scrutiny, violating Bones' privacy was quite another. As fiercely protective as he was over her physical safety, suddenly a new form of equally fierce protectiveness swelled up within him, one like he had never felt before. It wasn't just a gentlemanly desire not to kiss and tell - it went far deeper than that. Something physical had happened between them; and she had initiated it. No matter how brief it had been, it had far surpassed anything prior to it in his life in terms of meaning and importance. She had given him a _gift,_ no matter how briefly, and he wanted to wrap his arms around that gift and shield it from the world: it was for him _only._ Telling Sweets the details would feel like he was betraying her, like he was putting something intimate between them out there for the world to see instead of protecting it - protecting _her_ \- like he should. It was just a kiss, but it was _theirs._

"Booth?" Sweets could see how conflicted Booth was, even if he did not yet know the reason why. "I realize that what you're telling me is very personal. But I can't help if I don't know what happened."

With a heavy sigh, Booth sat down on the couch again, still tumbling it over and over in his mind. Did he even have a right? Was getting himself help to win her back a good enough reason to embarrass her? Probably not. But then he thought about the way that she still seemed to be frightened of being trapped, the flashbacks and nightmares he knew still tormented her, and the way that she just seemed to be a step...off, ever since he had found her. Getting help for _her_ , even if it didn't lead to what he personally wanted for them, was beyond non-negotiable. It was fucking crucial. And that made his decision for him.

But there was one thing he was going to get good and damn straight first. Leaning forward, he pinned Sweets with eyes dark as coal.

"Sweets, so help me God, if you ever utter a word of what I'm about to tell you to anyone...if it ever turns up in one of your goddamn books with or without our names, or if you even so much as _think_ about playing with her over this..." Booth let his words trail off menacingly.

Wide eyed, Sweets only gulped a little as he nodded, actually somewhat hurt by the implied accusation - although after intentionally letting Brennan believe Booth was dead for two weeks just to experiment with them, there wasn't much he could say.

Booth was still leaning forward, eyes fixed on Sweets and gauging his reaction. "She kissed me."

Sweets mouth fell slightly open at the quietly hesitant admission, suddenly understanding Booth's reticence to talk about it, and also instantly forgetting that he had just been threatened by a man who not only clearly meant it but was fully capable of carrying it out. " _She_ kissed _you?"_ Booth was staring at him hard, as though still debating whether or not he had made the right decision, but Sweets plunged ahead bravely. "What kind of kiss? I mean was it passionate or was it..."

Booth's glare only grew hotter as he cut him off, but to Sweets' relief he didn't sound quite as menacing or deadly serious this time. He didn't have to - he had already made his point devastatingly clear. This was a much more typical Booth type of warning, meant mostly to convey that he didn't intend to give details of his love life to a 12-year-old. "You know, Sweets, Cullen may have suspended me but he didn't take my gun. Just remember that before you ask any more questions like that."

Sighing, Sweets allowed some of his own frustration to show. "I'm trying to help, Booth. Details like that could be important in figuring out her motivations and reactions. Look...Dr. Brennan suffered and is recovering from a terrible ordeal that made her feel extremely powerless. For example, when the archaeologist tied her up and gagged her, covering her head..."

Booth's jaw was the one hanging slightly open at that statement, his entire body suddenly wracked with tension as he cut the young doctor off. "How the hell do you know about that? She _talked_ to you about that?" Barely disguised hurt filled his shocked voice. She hadn't even talked to _him_ about that, not really…not more than a passing reference on the plane. He already felt enough like she was slipping through his fingers. No matter how many times he had told her that she should talk to somebody even if it wasn't him, it still hurt that she would pick someone else when he wanted more than anything to be the one to help her - _needed_ to be the one to help her. A flash of irritation shot through him, fueling his suspicious words. "You weren't pushing her, were you?"

Still focused on the point he had been prepared to make, Sweets picked up on the hurt but not the underlying cause. "No. In fact, she showed me the pictures on her phone - voluntarily."

Booth blinked, slowly leaning back to rest his back against the back of the couch, as though someone had pushed him lightly in the chest and gravity had finished the job. "Oh." He seemed distracted as he slowly rubbed a hand over his jaw, flicking his eyes in Sweets' direction. "I'm sorry, Sweets. Go ahead. You were saying?"

Sweets was now fully focused on Booth's reaction, watching the way he seemed to be lost deep in thought and knowing he wouldn't hear a word he said right then anyway. "No, it's okay. We'll get there in a minute. First finish telling me what happened. She kissed you and then what? Did you kiss her back?"

That brought Booth's full attention back to him. Sweets wasn't sure what had changed, but Booth suddenly seemed willing not to hold anything back. "Yeah, at first. Then I realized what I was doing and tried to stop it."

"Okay. Why?"

Booth looked at him incredulously, as though Sweets had lost his mind. "Why do you think, Sweets? You know what she's been through!"

"Just humor me," Sweets placated with an outstretched arm. "There are two people in this situation, Booth. Your motivations are equally important as hers."

Booth's jaw clenched, everything about his body language defensive. "Some of the flashbacks that she's having are about me attacking her, okay?" His face told the story quite clearly of how much it hurt to say those words, even as he pushed back to his feet once again to slowly pace, unable to stay still. "And she told me that herself, before you even think about suggesting that I'm projecting or whatever other nonsense might make it sound better." A frustrated sigh escaped as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's like walking through a mine field, Sweets - every time I go near her, I don't know if she's going to jump on me and let me hold her or if she's about to run and look at me like she actually thinks I could ever hurt her."

Booth knew he had revealed more about himself than he intended before the sudden stream of words even finished, and the knowing look on Sweets' face confirmed it although he didn't say a word other than to continue gathering facts. "And how did she react when you tried to stop it?"

On a sharp exhalation, Booth plunged into the part of the story he had dreaded. "Honestly, Sweets, for just a minute she looked like she wanted to hit me."

"She was angry," Sweets appeared to be putting the puzzle together, nodding thoughtfully. "Very good. Keep going, Booth. Don't leave anything out."

Already on his feet, Booth paced away from the psychologist slightly, not wanting to look at him. "Yeah, but she only looked angry for a second. Then she...she told me she wasn't afraid of me. And she...and I..." Words trailing off and lips pressing together, Booth clearly struggled for how to word what he was trying to say.

"She came on to you," Sweets guessed correctly. "She made herself the aggressor."

Booth might not have been an expert in psychology, but he _was_ an expert in all things Brennan. The epiphany was written all over his face as he spun back around to face the man trying to help him. "That's it, Sweets. You just said it. That's where I screwed up. I shouldn't have grabbed her like that either way, but where I _really_ screwed up was that I took control back from her. Right?"

"Well, it's not exactly that simple, but that's part of it. I take it that things became more passionate at that point with you as the initiator, and at some point things went bad?"

Despite his growing participation in the conversation, Booth still cringed. "You really like that word, don't you, Sweets? Yeah, I got carried away. Hearing her say she wasn't afraid of me..."

"You wanted it to be true."

Booth nodded. "More than anything." His face grew deadly serious. "I didn't mean to push her, Sweets. I don't mind waiting forever if I have to. I love her. But I went way too far today and she got scared. When we were in that room in Albania, I never touched her lips. The _only_ place my mouth touched her was on her neck. I did that on purpose so I wouldn't have to touch her anywhere...else."

It was clear where he was going, and Sweets again filled in the blanks to spare him having to say it. "So you kissed her on her neck today, just like in Albania, and she reacted badly."

Booth could only nod sadly and extremely uncomfortably as he sat down once again. "You could say that. She pushed me away, told me she doesn't return my feelings, and that she'll see me at work."

"Whoa." Sympathy was obvious in Sweets' expression.

"She's lying, Sweets. That's the one thing I'm sure of. I just don't know _why_ she's lying. But I intend to find out."

Booth was so completely convinced of it that Sweets didn't doubt him, his expression showing acceptance of Booth's assessment.

"And that's the last communication between you?"

"I followed her home, made sure she got inside safely, and then came looking for you."

"Booth, it's not exactly the same thing, but I know that as a trained agent you're at least somewhat familiar with the typical reactions and responses of sexual assault victims. I know you've heard of Rape Trauma Syndrome."

Booth appeared confused and horrified all at the same time. "She wasn't raped, Sweets. You _know_ that."

"You're right, Booth. I'm putting it in those terms because it's something I know you're familiar with. But the fact is that it is a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and from what you're describing to me, Dr. Brennan _is_ in fact reacting much like a sexual assault victim. It makes sense, in a way. She had a _massive_ amount of power and control taken from her. She was kidnapped, physically restrained more than once, drugged, and believed she was to be sold into forced prostitution."

Booth winced, but nodded for Sweets to go on.

"I know it's painful for you to hear this, Booth, but you have to consider that after all of that, she then felt confused and betrayed by the actions of someone she trusted - you. That perceived violation of trust can have powerful effects. You said yourself that she didn't know why you were doing what you had to do. It's possible that she even believed she was _going_ to be raped."

Booth's face was still white, but he managed to give Sweets another valuable piece of information. "She told me today that she thought I was Tolka when I...on the bed. She thought Tolka was going to rape her. But..."

"But?"

"But then she said that in the flashbacks, she sees _me_ now."

"So Dr. Brennan was fully convinced of the fact that she was _going_ to be raped, and indirectly relates it to you. That actually backs up my point."

"No," Booth argued, having difficulty with the idea of 'rape victim' and the woman he loved in the same sentence, even knowing that she wasn't one - especially with himself in the role of attacker. "I know enough to know that rape victims want nothing to do with sex. If your theory is right, then why she would come on to me in the first place?"

"Normally that's correct, Booth. However, every woman reacts differently. Some women actually become even _more_ sexually active than they were previously, even to the point of promiscuity. It's not common and doesn't usually happen so soon, but it has been known to happen occasionally. I believe that it's an effort to regain control. And as you pointed out, Dr. Brennan wasn't actually raped. It makes sense that after a scare, she might attempt to regain her footing by pushing herself to react normally too quickly."

Booth swallowed hard. "So you're saying that's all she was doing? Trying to prove something, and she just couldn't go through with it?"

"You said she looked angry when you tried to put on the brakes. Dr. Brennan values being in control and having others perceive her as being in control. This entire situation has stripped her of not only _her_ power and control, but she also sees others reacting to her cautiously - especially you. I believe that was the source of her anger: she doesn't want to be treated as a victim. She's very aware that she is responding as one, but actually being treated like one only fuels that feeling of powerlessness and makes her feel _more_ like a victim. I believe that Dr. Brennan probably did, in fact, genuinely wish to be intimate with you on some level, but realized that carrying through was not something she could deal with. Stopping, as you did, was the right decision. But when she _saw_ that you were also aware that she wasn't ready, that's where the anger and frustration came in. When she came on to you the second time, it was a failed attempt to prove something not to _you_ , but to herself."

Booth looked more defeated by the moment. "So what am I supposed to do, Sweets? I'm wrong if I touch her, and I'm wrong if I don't touch her?"

Sweets moved to sit beside him on the couch, his look sympathetic. "That's the classic challenge. The best advice that I can give you is to simply be there for her without crowding. It's a fine line, Booth. Dr. Brennan even more than most people needs to know that you're not going to go anywhere, but she also doesn't need to feel pressure from you. Let her set the tone of your interactions, within reason. Obviously if she comes on to you again, you have to set limits, but you need to be honest about why. Otherwise, she needs to regain control, so _let_ her be in control, especially in situations where there is _any_ type of physical contact."

"That's it? Just be there for her but don't push her? I can do that."

"That's going to be more difficult than it sounds, Booth," Sweets warned, "Especially considering the depth of your feelings for her and the fledgling nature of your relationship. It's not as though you had a preexisting sexual relationship that you're attempting to rebuild, and the issue is further complicated by the fact that your first sexual contact is the very 'attack' or issue that's causing the problem. This has the makings of an extremely frustrating situation for you. There's not exactly a textbook way for addressing this particular situation, because it's somewhat unique. Clearly Dr. Brennan needs to talk about what she's going through, and I've suggested that she write out her feelings and what she can remember of her flashbacks and nightmares. There are coping techniques I've discussed with her to help her through the flashbacks, and I can share them with you. I'll also give you some literature that might help you know what to expect from her and what issues she might face. But if she's completely unwilling to address what's happened, there may not be much you _can_ do until she is. You're going to have to give her space, and just be willing to play whatever role she's willing to allow you - whether that's friend, or even just partner at first. You've won her trust before, Booth, and I believe that you can do so again - if you're patient."

The determined look was back in Booth's eyes. "I'd do anything for her. I can be as patient as she needs."

Sweets gave him a small smile as an answer. "There's one other thing, Booth. When's the last time you slept?"

Booth stood with a sigh, going for his keys. "Wouldn't do me any good anyway."

Sweets looked at him sharply, his eyes growing worried. "Booth, are you having nightmares as well?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it." He was already reaching for the door, ignoring Sweets' concerned look.

"Booth, listen to me...I think we need to consider that there may be some issues you yourself need to address. You've been through a terrible ordeal as well, and..."

"I'm not worried about me. Thanks for the help, Sweets. See you later."

"But Booth, if you want to help Dr. Brennan, the two are..."

 _Slam_

"...totally linked," Sweets finished to the closed door. "Great."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Many hours after retreating to her bedroom away from Angela, Brennan was discovering just exactly how normal her life no longer was. Nothing held her attention for more than a few moments throughout the entire afternoon, whether it was her laptop and trying to work on her current novel that suddenly seemed completely alien to her, or catching up on reading forensics journals, or anything else she attempted to focus her mind on. If she thought for one moment that she could get out of her apartment and to the lab without a fight from Angela, she would have gone in a heartbeat. It seemed the only thing her mind could focus on was the one topic she wanted most desperately to avoid: Booth.

Pushing him from her mind for what was at least the hundredth time, she made her way to the shower. Maybe if she washed off any lingering trace of Booth and his scent, she could more easily forget what had happened between them earlier. It was still several hours until bedtime, and she wasn't sleepy anyway. Stripping her clothes and throwing them almost violently in the hamper, she scrubbed her skin until it was red and almost raw, spending extra time on her neck. The water running down her face hid the tears that flowed freely, although she ruthlessly suppressed the sobs that wanted to come out.

After she was dressed, she once again found herself perplexed with the problem of how to keep herself occupied, until the smell of something delicious made its way to her nose. Angela must be cooking dinner. Eventually, curiosity got the better of her.

Cautiously, she poked her head out and tiptoed down the hall, relieved to find only Angela in her kitchen, smiling at her when she caught sight of her.

"Hey, Bren. I wondered if I could tempt you out of there. You're just in time. Vegetarian lasagna. Grab yourself a plate."

Seeing the suspicious way Brennan looked over her shoulder toward the door, Angela actually laughed. "He's not coming, Brennan. I promised, remember? I'm just going to be your friend. I was your friend pre-Booth, and I'm still your friend no matter what happens. I'm done pushing you for today. Let's just eat some lasagna and try to be normal for a little while, all right? I promise not to say the B word. Scout's honor."

Brennan hadn't even realized how hungry she was, and her spirits were buoyed by the fact that Angela seemed to be keeping her promise and was just acting as though everything was...normal. It felt good in a relaxing way that she hadn't felt since before leaving for Albania. She even managed a small smile, grateful to her friend for the effort she knew she was making. "I don't know what that means, but I assume it's a reassurance of your trustworthiness." At Angela's exaggerated eye roll, her smile only grew a little more pronounced. "Thanks, Ange."

It took some time, but soon she found herself relaxing into Angela's spirited stories and vivacious chatter. Feeling more normal than she had believed only hours before that she could ever feel again, she sat with Angela at the table long into the night, surprised how much she could enjoy the simple act of gossiping and letting Angela amuse her with observations about people from the Jeffersonian that in some cases she had never even heard of. The first time she laughed at some of Angela's more shocking tidbits, it sounded odd to her own ears. But soon even that seemed normal again.

It was only when they finally parted on a cheerful hug and she found herself alone in her own bedroom that her thoughts again turned to Booth, growing pensive and heavy. But before she had time to sink too deeply into despair, a light knock sounded on her door.

"Bren?" Angela stood there in pajamas with her pillow and two sleeping bags she had pulled out of Brennan's hall closet. "I know you're going to work in the morning, and I'll go with you. But when's the last time we had a good old-fashioned sleepover that didn't involve an infectious diseases quarantine and dangerous injections? C'mon, what do you say?"

For the first time in a very long time, Brennan really contemplated what a good friend she had in Angela. A smile pulled her lips up, even as tears pricked at her eyes. She wasn't quite sure, but she suspected that Angela knew she suddenly, despite her earlier desperation for it, didn't want to be alone. "That sounds great, Ange."

ooo … ooo … ooo

The transition back to work did not go nearly so smoothly as Brennan had anticipated. She had longed for the comforting familiarity of diving into her chosen profession, eager to bury herself in the tasks she had always loved. She had believed it would be the first step back to being normal, succeeding where rest and Sweets' advice had failed.

Things started badly long before she ever left for work. In fact, they started badly only two short hours after she and Angela talked themselves to sleep in their sleeping bags on her living room floor. Peaceful rest changed in an instant to blinding terror as the nameless, faceless assailant whom she suddenly found herself struggling against held her down, trapping her arms and paralyzing her with fear. She fought against the suffocatingly tight restriction that the sleeping bag had become, her lungs burning by the time Angela's quiet but frightened voice finally broke through and guided her back to reality.

She awoke with a jolt, sitting bolt upright and uttering the last cry she wanted to hear come from her own mouth: "Booth!"

Perhaps the most disconcerting fact directly upon awakening was the prevailing uncertainty: she could not have honestly stated whether she called Booth's name out of fear or pleading; as attacker or rescuer. Perhaps her answer lay in the fact that only one thing bothered her more than the uncertainty, and that was the realization that Booth wasn't there to help her -that she had, in fact, pushed him away from doing so forever. The tears she had fought since leaving Booth in that hotel room finally broke through, and she collapsed in heaving sobs against her best friend as Angela rocked and consoled her.

It was because of that unplanned and completely unwanted breakdown that she had been so insistent the following morning about taking her own self to work, desperate to regain some control. She slipped out and got a cab while Angela was in the shower, knowing the artist wouldn't be happy but unable to bring herself to care.

Once finally in her office, things only proceeded to slide further downhill. She had expected work to be, as it had always been before, a refuge where things made _sense_. But as she continued to struggle with focus, her mood grew more sour with each consecutive mistake she caught herself making in the paperwork she had started with, wondering how many more she _wasn't_ catching.

The feeling of having been snatched up and dropped headlong into somebody else's life where she didn't belong and couldn't find her way - much like when she had landed in the foster system - was supposed to have stopped following her when she carded in to the Jeffersonian. The fact that it hadn't yet ceased filled her with yet another realization that she did not want: it wasn't going to be just as easy as going back to work and picking up where she left off.

So by the time she looked up to her doorway in the early afternoon to see a very nervous 6 foot tall FBI agent with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and a file that he couldn't stop bending and twirling in his hands, she was in no mood.

... ooo ... ooo ...

As he entered the Jeffersonian from the parking garage, Booth stopped a moment to rest his forehead against the cool door between him and the building where he knew he would find her. The cool sensation was soothing as it spread across his entire forehead - all of his forehead, that is, except for just above his left eyebrow, which was newly covered by a small, square bandage he knew there was no hope of hiding.

Twisting the file he held in his hands and sucking a deep breath through his dry lips, he tried to hide his nervousness at seeing her again and hoped desperately that he was doing the right thing. It had seemed so easy when Sweets initially suggested it: be there for her; don't push. Actually putting it into practice, however, had left him unsure where to start. He only knew that he could not mess this up. It was too important. The pressure was unbelievable.

After Sweets' admonition to let her control their interaction, he had restrained himself from contacting her the rest of that long day, even after what happened on his way home - something that had resulted in the bandage on his forehead and which he had no intention of telling her or anybody else about. He lost count of how many times he had typed a simple text message into his phone - _'We need to talk'_ \- and then deleted it before he could send it to her.

No, he was going to do exactly what Sweets had said. Even before she had left the motel, she had told him she'd see him when he had a case. He didn't want to find himself back at square one as just her partner, but Sweets had warned him he might have to for a while. At least, even as she was literally running out the door from him, she hadn't completely shut down the possibility of working with him.

She had left him a place to start.

And so he had gone in early on his first day back in the office, determined to do anything short of actually committing a murder himself to get a case for them to work - or at the very least find something to consult with her on. He had poked his nose into so many other agents' business by mid-morning that people were beginning to look at him strangely.

It finally happened for him late in the morning: he got the break he had been looking for. When he was making himself his third cup of coffee in an hour, he overheard a young, green agent - one so wet behind the ears that he made Sweets look like a wise old grandfather by comparison - talking excitedly about his first murder case, a skeleton that had just been found on federal land that morning and which he was on his way to go check out.

Booth had taken an overbearing interest immediately, soon finding out that the kid had been kicked a murder case to cut his teeth on because there was going to be absolutely no real work involved. He was a promising young agent, highly ranked from Quantico, and Cullen and the Bureau brass wanted to hand him his first 'solved' beside his name.

In reality, everybody and their brother already knew who the body was, how they had died, and who had done it. The wallet of the deceased, along with his last known clothing, had already been located with the body, the bullet plainly visible lodged in the skull. Identification wasn't an issue. A businessman from Gaithersburg, Maryland doing business in D.C. had gone missing several years before, and suspicion had immediately fallen on his business partner. At the time, kidnapping had been assumed, hence the Bureau's involvement. The original agent who had been in charge of the case had amassed a wealth of information, enough to be reasonably certain that the business partner had followed the missing man to D.C., abducted him, shot him, and disposed of the body - but just not enough to make an arrest without the body. That agent had retired about one month prior, and the case had been reassigned to the lucky young agent only a day before the body was found.

It was cut and dry - certainly no need for Special Agent Seeley Booth or Dr. Temperance Brennan to be called in. The Bureau's own team could handle it, the kid could make the arrest, and that would be that. Hell, Parker could have solved it.

It was the kind of case Booth would have normally avoided like the plague. There was no air of mystery, no heart pumping action, nothing that would normally draw him to a case. It was 30 minutes of boring field time to learn what he already knew, followed by about a one hour round-trip drive to Gaithersburg to arrest a pudgy businessman and then fill out a mountain of paperwork. Usually, the only redeeming factor of a case like that would be the time spent with his partner - time which he could normally have spent with her anyway by abducting her to the diner for lunch.

It was the type of case he would normally have hung himself with his own tie to avoid.

It was fucking perfect.

He was in Cullen's office so fast it wasn't even funny. "I want the Bernadetti case," he blurted out without greeting.

Cullen looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Good morning to you too, Agent Booth. That case has already been assigned to Agent Spencer."

"I want it reassigned to me."

Cullen was looking at him rather strangely. "For God's sake, why?"

Booth paused a moment, his mouth hanging slightly open rather embarrassingly. He hadn't really thought this through. He couldn't very well tell Cullen that he needed an opportunity to see his partner whom he had proclaimed love for but who was currently not speaking to him unless he had a case file in his hands.

"Sir, the press was all over this case when it first hit. If the kid makes any mistakes and this guy gets off on a technicality, it's going to look bad for the FBI that a rookie agent was assigned a high profile murder."

It had sounded great in his own head, even if high profile was unquestionably a bit of a stretch, but the look on Cullen's face said he wasn't buying it. "Since when do you give a damn about FBI publicity, Booth? Usually you're the one creating the big public mess for me to fix. Given your sudden interest in it, I'd think you were angling for my job if I didn't know better."

Sighing at the impassive look on Booth's face, he shook his head with a wave of his hand that said he didn't care enough to argue about it. "Fine. You want to ease your partner back in on a soft-ball case, then it's yours. But you break it to Spencer."

"Thank you, sir," Booth choked out, trying hard to work up some sympathy for the kid whose career he had just set back a notch. It didn't come easily; the young agent had the backing of his superiors, and this would only be a minor speedbump rather than a real roadblock.

Booth was much more chagrined by the fact that Cullen had seen right through his motivations. Was he that blatantly transparent?

"Give my regards to Dr. Brennan," Cullen called after him dryly, answering _that_ question, only a moment before Booth closed the door and forgot all about him.

Booth wasted no time in tracking the poor young agent down and breaking his heart, only moments before he could head out to his first big crime scene. He had to give the young man credit for having the balls to argue with him about it, but Booth pulled rank and intimidated the hell out of him fairly efficiently before trying to soften the blow - _'Sorry, kid... Special Agent Seeley Booth. Better luck next time.'_ It was like taking candy from a baby as he clapped him on the arm, removed the file from him and made for the parking garage.

It was only as he now stood gathering his courage against the cold door to the Jeffersonian that it finally occurred to him to wonder what the hell he was going to do if she suddenly decided not to accompany him into the field and he was stuck with this nothing case by himself. He already knew he would almost certainly grit his teeth and forgive her. Unless Daisy was the intern of the week and he got stuck with _her_ instead - then he might actually shoot her.

Lecturing himself all the way to her office, he stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of her. She hadn't seen him yet, so he stood watching her for a few moments before approaching her door. The sight of her sitting back behind that desk again made his breath hitch in his throat, suddenly inordinately grateful for the small things in life.

When he had stormed into her office the morning he realized she was missing, using her phone as he called Naji, he had struggled to suppress thoughts of what it would be like to never see her there again. The fact that she was now there made him want to either bawl like a baby or grab her and kiss her. Knowing that neither was an option, he planted what he hoped was a friendly, non-threatening smile on his face and moved to her doorway, waiting patiently until she looked up and saw him, hoping she wouldn't notice that he was more nervous than a teenage boy on his first real date.

"Hiya, Bones. You up for a case?"

ooo … ooo … ooo

Her first reaction at seeing him was for every muscle in her body to tense up, expecting him to immediately want to talk about what had happened between them. She was coiled to strike, ready to snap his head off if he tried it, especially after the morning she had just experienced. She relaxed somewhat at the mention of a case, but then she noticed the square bandage just above his left eyebrow. Involuntarily and without her permission, her heart started to beat a little faster. What had happened to him? It caused her to forget her surly mood and the fact that when she first saw him she had been prepared to snap at him mercilessly.

"What happened to your head, Booth?" She tried to modulate her tone into one that was coolly casual, but her voice betrayed her and she knew it. She sounded...worried.

Booth sighed. That had taken even less time than he expected, although it was nice to have confirmation that she cared. He simply wasn't willing to discuss it with her. "I bumped it. Do you feel up to going to a crime scene with me?"

He almost cringed at his word choice, remembering what Sweets had said about making her feel like a victim. Insinuating that she wasn't capable of doing her job wasn't likely to help matters. It surprised him, however, when she squared her shoulders after only a moment of looking like she wanted to bolt right past him and out the door. He watched in fascinated silence as she stood determinedly to her feet, moving to get her coat. Ordinarily, he would have reached for it and helped her into it, but he restrained himself from doing so.

Trying to calm her hammering heart, Brennan shrugged into her coat. She had hoped that some time would pass before she was faced with working a case with Booth, but this was exactly what she had said she wanted. Hadn't her entire purpose in telling him she didn't return his feelings been to reestablish normalcy? To salvage their friendship and working partnership before she could destroy it with her irrational reactions to him? If she wished to do so, she would have to put aside her own discomfort and do her part. What would be the point in waiting? She could do this - she could compartmentalize.

"Of course. Let's go. You can fill me in on the way."

The walk from her office to the parking garage was stilted and awkward. She walked several steps in front of him, her pace more hurried than normal. Booth cleared his throat several times in awkward agitation, cringing at the way she kept glancing over her shoulder at him like having him back there made her uncomfortable.

What only added to his discomfort was that he suddenly was ultra-aware of her surroundings, more so than usual - every shadow in the parking deck made him jumpy; made him want to take a step closer to make sure nobody could grab her away from him.

Chalking it up to lingering effects from their ordeal, he tried to ignore Sweets' voice in his head telling him there were things he needed to deal with himself, and instead fixed his mind on Sweets' instructions as they pertained to Bones. He made absolutely no move to touch her in any way, and neither of them spoke - at least, not until she realized that she didn't see his black SUV anywhere.

"Where did you park, Booth?" She had stopped and turned to look at him, her face registering confusion…and suspicion.

"Oh, I'm right over here," he intoned nonchalantly, gesturing toward a small blue government-issue sedan.

She made no move toward the vehicle, crossing her arms and studying him intently. "Why are you driving that?"

With a shrug, he opened her door and left it standing open for her before moving around to the driver's side. "Truck's in for maintenance. Just had to requisition a new vehicle for us today. It's no big deal, Bones." Sitting down in the seat, he watched her in the rearview mirror as she stood for another moment or two before slowly walking over and carefully climbing into the seat next to him.

It wasn't long before he found himself wishing for the extra roominess of the SUV. It was the first time they had been in a vehicle together since everything that happened, and being forced into even closer quarters than normal appeared to make her jittery.

Inexplicably, it was having the same effect on him, making him feel slightly suffocated and trapped. Wordlessly, he rolled her window down just a crack to give her some air, doing the same with his own. What the hell was wrong with him? He was as fidgety as she was, somewhat relieved when she finally settled down to quietly gaze out her window and ignore him.

As they approached the crime scene, he had to clear his throat twice to stop his voice from cracking like a kid as he nervously filled her in - he just needed her to give him the sex and approximate age before gathering everything up to send to the Jeffersonian for a definitive identification. It was almost certainly overkill to do so in this case, but she didn't need to know that. The Jeffersonian's involvement would only help make the case against the murderer a little more airtight, so it was a win-win for everybody involved.

By the time they actually made it from the car to the taped off area where the body had been found, he was beginning to wonder if there really might be something to what Sweets had been trying to say about him needing to deal with some of his own issues before he could even think about dealing with Bones's. He was always protective of her, but this was ridiculous.

They were walking across a taped-off, cop-filled crime scene in broad daylight, and he was reacting like he expected there to be snipers in the trees aiming right at her. His heart was pounding, and he had to literally fight the urge to wrap his arm around her and pull her against his side to shield her from every movement that caught his eye. His twitchy fingers kept hovering near his gun, and he was afraid that if he didn't get himself under control he was going to shoot somebody just for moving too quickly around her.

When one of the crime scene techs popped out from behind a tree just a few feet from her, holding the just-located murder weapon dangling from a probe, all he saw was a gun that was closer to her than it was to him. He just barely caught himself before tackling Bones to the ground in a repeat performance of the Gormogon vault. Only this time, she probably wouldn't have laughed at him: it would have been disastrous. He was mortified when he realized that she had seen him startle and move toward her, especially when he saw the tight, angry look on her face. Face flaming, he forced himself to move slightly away from her and start a conversation with one of the other techs while she did her thing. But still he couldn't help watching her and scanning the area. It just felt like danger was coming at her from every side.

Maybe it had something to do with the dream he had suffered when he had finally arrived home several hours after leaving Sweets' house. He would not soon forget the gaping hole in her head that his mind had conjured up, compliments of his own weapon, as he relived in his dreams that _way-too-damn-close_ shot at the man who had held the knife to her throat. Only this particular time, he had missed, and her lifeless eyes had stared up at him in accusation as he begged and pleaded with her to wake up, to just please not leave him. He had awoken covered in sweat, tangled in his sheets, and gasping for breath before realizing that he had better make his way to his bathroom immediately. He had retched until there was nothing left, and then had retched some more as he pondered the fact that this was new: up until now, his dreams had only tormented him with disjointed images of him hurting her; this was the first time he had actually killed her.

That particular image was no less frightening by daylight as he watched her work, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat even as he viciously pushed that thought away. When he had himself sufficiently under control, he pulled out his notepad and approached her in what he hoped was a good imitation of normal. "Well, Bones? Are the age and sex right? Could this be Mr. Bernadetti?"

An evidence bag came flying at his head, and he caught it deftly, juggling his notepad and pen to keep from dropping them in the process.

Her tone could have frozen water into ice. "According to the Maryland driver's license in the wallet they recovered, I would say it's an almost statistical certainty. What am I doing here, Booth? What are _you_ doing here?"

 _'Oh, shit.'_

"Well, you know, Bones, this could be a pickpocket. If you had a TV you'd know this was a big case when this guy disappeared. FBI wants to be absolutely certain we have the right guy."

She scrutinized him closely for a moment before giving him a curt nod. "Fine. Age and sex are a match for Mr. Bernadetti. Have everything sent to the lab, including that," she instructed as she gestured toward the wallet, "and we'll make a definitive identification."

ooo … ooo … ooo

When they were safely back in the vehicle, after another harrowing but silent walk to the car during which she watched him suspiciously as he watched everything and everybody else suspiciously, he drummed his fingers on the wheel as he pondered his next question. He wanted to ask her to go have lunch with him at the diner so badly that he could barely stand it. Would that be too much?

Deciding not to risk it, he began slowly driving back toward the Jeffersonian.

They only made it a few blocks when he felt her eyes on him, studying him. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming, and he was right. "What did you bump it on?"

As much as he didn't want to talk about that, the remark was so Bones that he couldn't help a small smile. She just picked up a long-since-finished conversation as though she expected him to be able to read her mind. Luckily for him, a lot of the time he could. It wasn't really so difficult - if there was a topic he _least_ wanted to discuss, that was usually what she was thinking about. "Bump what on?" he stalled.

"Your head," she frowned at him. "You were quite vague about how you injured yourself."

He turned his head in her direction and smiled softly, not even trying to hide the affection he felt. There was really no point in hiding it anymore - she knew _exactly_ how he felt anyway, in excruciating detail. That little frown of hers as she stared at the bandage on his head like it had personally offended her was almost the death of him, but in a good way for once.

It would have seemed like a small thing to anybody else, but Bones worrying about him just got him right in the gut, especially considering her determination to convince him she didn't care about him. She just couldn't help it, and that was what made him want to melt like a lovesick kid. She must have been mulling his injury over in that amazing brain of hers since he walked into her office that morning, and had only now decided that enough time had passed to bring it up in what, for her, passed for a subtle fashion.

Not for the first time, he was struck by how _cute_ she could be when she was trying to be nonchalant and failing miserably. He could barely keep the smile out of his voice as he gave her a total nonanswer. "I'm fine, Bones. You don't have to worry about me. It's just a little bump."

Silence reigned for about a minute while he congratulated himself on sticking to the plan thus far. She looked deep in thought, and he assumed that she had accepted his explanation.

He should have known that she was just winding up to throw him a curveball.

"Fine. If you don't want to tell me you don't have to. I suppose it's not my business anymore anyway."

 _'Great.'_

Her voice was tight, prim, too rational. It could only mean her feelings were hurt, whether or not she'd ever admit it. She had just forced his hand, but he knew she hadn't done it on purpose. The way she said that it wasn't her business told him without a doubt that she was implying she had no right to know because of what she had done in the motel, pushing him away and denying having feelings for him.

He hadn't wanted her to know about the skidding, sliding, terrifying traffic accident he had the afternoon before, when he fell asleep at the wheel just a short distance from his apartment on the way home from Sweets' house. He knew she would blame herself and it would only make things worse. One moment he had been nodding at the wheel trying to stay awake, and the next his eyes were wide open again but it was already too late. He skidded helplessly off the road after crossing the center line, unable to stop before the SUV tumbled down into a ditch and landed on its side. The left side of his head had smacked hard into the driver's side window, splitting the skin above his left eye and bleeding like a son-of-a-bitch. Two faces had flashed across his mind's eye in that moment of impact: Parker's and hers. He still wasn't sure which of their names had crossed his lips when he yelled just before impact.

As he had sat for over an hour in the cold waiting for the tow company the Bureau used, blood trickling down into his eye, he had plenty of time to think about how lucky he was. The last thing he remembered was crossing the bridge. Had it happened seconds earlier, he would have most likely ended up in the river. It only intensified his determination to win his partner back over. Life was too damn short. Any doubts he had harbored about following Sweets advice to the letter were erased. He wasn't taking any chances.

He had ended up walking the final half mile home, not really knowing who to call. He couldn't call her; Angela might have been a good option, but she was with Bones; and Sweets would have just been way too insistent on lecturing him. Rebecca wasn't even an option; he _really_ didn't want to hear it from anybody, but he knew that she would have certainly said it...and said it, and said it, and said it. So he had walked home with a bleeding head before falling into bed, dead to the world - at least until that horrifying night vision of missing his shot in the worst possible way.

He had instantly decided to keep the accident from Brennan, almost before the truck came to rest, not wanting her to feel any guilt. But now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. His choices were tell her and have her realize he'd basically lied about where the truck was, or _not_ tell her and let her add a few more bricks to the wall between them, thinking that he was cutting her off from his life. That sealed the deal. He had to tell her.

"Of course it's your business, Bones," he soothingly scolded, his voice serious. Just because she was denying things didn't mean he had to. He had never agreed to pretend he didn't love her in return; he didn't have to push her, but he didn't have to hide either. "Don't even say things like that. We've been through that, and you know where I stand. I just got into a little traffic accident yesterday. That's all. It's really no big deal - not enough to even mention."

He was watching her reaction closely out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the way she tensed - saw her hand that was on the armrest grip the end more tightly. And he also heard her sharp intake of breath and the tiny wobble in her voice when she pushed him for more information. "You hit the side of your head, presumably against the window. That would suggest more than..."

"All right." He cut her off, before she could analyze the entire incident and tell _him_ how it happened. Time for total honesty. "I didn't want to give you anything else to worry about, Bones. I'm fine. I just fell asleep at the wheel, that's all. Yes, the truck ended up on its side, and I hit my head on the driver's window. Other than that, I don't have a scratch. Now can we drop it?"

ooo … ooo … ooo

His understated explanation hit the woman he loved - the woman that loved him back - with more force than Booth would ever know.

A sickening mixture of guilt and horror flooded Brennan as she processed his words, instantly understanding exactly _why_ he had barely slept since leaving D.C. to find her. Perhaps she couldn't be blamed for any of the sleeplessness before she ran - except for possibly the hard chair in the hospital waiting room and the pallet on the ground in her apartment - but she knew exactly what had kept him awake for a straight 24 hours after she ran: he had been looking for her; had told her, in anger, that he had been through hell in those 24 hours.

It almost didn't feel as if she could breathe as her mind raced, filling with all of the things that could have happened. It was more than a small probability that Booth might have been seriously injured or even dead at that very moment - because of her. Because of her, he had sacrificed sleep. Because of her and her harsh, cruel words, he had been upset. Images of herself standing at his funeral - his _second_ funeral - while her friends tried to comfort her, none of them willing to admit that she was the one who had killed him, filled her mind.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she tried to nod in response to what he had told her. Everything in her wanted to scream, to cry out in relief that he was all right, to beg his forgiveness for hurting him.

"Booth?" She heard her own breathless voice, doing nothing to hide the barely restrained emotion she felt.

She wanted to tell him that she thought she just might love him back, because the idea of him dying with the asinine belief that she didn't return his feelings was just simply unacceptable. And if she couldn't get the words out, she wanted to _show_ him. She wanted to run her fingers over that bandage on his head and, although it would accomplish little because there were no healing properties in a kiss, press her lips against it too.

She knew he would let her. She knew that all she had to do was tell him that she hadn't meant it. She would be in his arms in less than a second; even she could see _that_ written all over his face.

But she stopped herself, forcing herself to think of something safer to say. This was exactly _why_ she had done what she did: to protect them both; to keep from being close enough to hurt like this.

Because it wasn't just as simple as telling him she loved him - because love or not, she _knew_ that she would still push him away the moment he got too close. And then something like this might happen again.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth watched as Brennan nodded thoughtfully in response to his admittedly minimizing account of what happened. He knew she was trying to appear calm, but her breathing had picked up and she looked like she was ready to cry. The irony of it made him either want to laugh or strangle her - maybe both. Not many women could straight-faced tell a guy that they didn't care about him one day, and then react like a scared girlfriend the next when he got in a little car wreck. But _only_ Bones could do that and _still_ expect him to believe she didn't care.

"Booth?"

His heart jumped at the serious way she said his name, all of his wry amusement and irritation gone in a flash. The entire atmosphere in the vehicle had changed; a ripple of tension had been present between them the entire time, but suddenly it was so thick that it was a physical presence. His heart almost stopped when he looked more closely at her eyes. Her face was brimming over with guilt, fear, and...love. He would have never wanted to manipulate her by scaring her; he hadn't even planned to tell her about the crash. But since he had been forced into telling her, it was beginning to appear that maybe his crash was a blessing in disguise.

"Mm-hm? What is it, Bones?" he gently pushed. He could hear the staccato beat of his own pulse in his ears as he silently urged her... _'C'mon, baby, just say it.'_

She opened her mouth, her eyes glued on him, and he wasn't even looking at the road anymore.

And then he literally saw it as the moment passed, her eyes averted, and she took the safer route.

"The National Highway Safety Administration estimates that over 1500 fatalities a year are caused by drowsy driving. In fact, it's been proven that the effects of prolonged sleeplessness can have similar effects to that of intoxication with regard to reflexes and reaction time."

A short pause, and then she dropped her eyes and quietly went as far as she was willing to go. "It's quite dangerous to drive in that condition, Booth. You really shouldn't take chances like that."

Frustration flooded him. She had been so close. He knew he shouldn't push her, but he wanted that moment back with a desperation that scared him. And so he pinned her with a hard gaze until she met his eyes, and then he took a chance of his own. "That's not what you were going to say, Bones. And we both know it."

And there it was: that flicker of fear that told him he had pushed a little too hard, made her just a little too uncomfortable, wrested too much of her precious control from her. With his accident fresh in her mind, he could probably strong-arm her into an admission of her feelings. But it wasn't what was best for her, and he knew it - so he backed off immediately.

But there was another part of Sweets' advice that he hadn't enacted yet: make it clear that he was there for her. Gluing his eyes to the road rather than make her nervous by pinning her with them, he said his next words so softly that she had to lean slightly toward him to hear. "Thanks for the warning. But I'm not that easy to kill off, Bones. I told you I'm here for you, and that hasn't changed. I'm not going anywhere."

The rest of the drive back to the Jeffersonian passed in silence.

ooo … ooo … ooo

She couldn't wait to get away from him when they made it back into the Jeffersonian parking garage. A flash of stubbornness welled up in him, and he almost insisted on accompanying her inside. There would be no point, though - the body would be arriving soon, and she would want to be there to meet it. Conversation wasn't likely until she had something to tell him anyway; but once she did, he had every intention of taking her with him to make the arrest.

Brennan had barely had time to get back to her office, and he was barely out of the parking garage on his way back to his office to wait for her call, when his cell phone rang.

"Booth."

"Can you meet me at the diner?" Angela phrased it as a question, but he was a military man from way back: he knew a direct order when he heard one.

"Yeah, sure. Ten minutes?" If she had something to tell him that might give him some insight into what was going on with Brennan, she could order him around all she liked. He wouldn't say a word.

"Fine. I'll see you then, Booth."

"Mind telling me what this is about?"

"I need to keep a promise - by breaking one. There's something you need to know, Booth. Just meet me, okay?" And with that cryptic answer, she hung up on him.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Ten minutes after hanging up with Angela, Booth waved a hand at her from his seat in the diner as he saw her walk in the door. He had already ordered them each a cup of coffee, and Angela smiled at his thoughtfulness as she sat down. "Thanks for coming, Booth." She did a double take at the bandage on his forehead. "Whoa, what happened there?"

"I wrecked the truck," he flatly stated, his tone dismissive. "I don't want to talk about it. What's this about breaking a promise?"

Angela looked nervous and somewhat guilty all at the same time. "Not just breaking a promise - keeping one too. Well, breaking one promise to keep another, I guess. I promised Brennan I wouldn't meddle into what's going on with you two. I also promised to just be her best friend. But after what she let slip at her apartment last night, I've come to the conclusion I can't do both. Booth, you know she's my best friend, right?"

Booth's stomach was beginning to clench. What exactly had Brennan let slip that was so important Angela was willing to go behind her back and talk to him? "Of course."

"And that I'd do anything for her?"

By this time, Booth was leaning across the table he was so eager to hear what she had to say. "Yes - Angela, what did she tell you?"

"Booth, I know that you told her how you feel. I also know that she kissed you and then told you she didn't return your feelings."

Booth studied his clasped hands on the table, somewhat surprised that Brennan had been that forthcoming, even to Angela. "Okay." He could tell Angela was building toward something, so he didn't comment further.

"She's lying, Booth. Brennan _does_ return your feelings. She all but admitted it to me."

Sitting back in his seat with a heavy sigh, Booth tried not to show his disappointment. He had hoped to find out something new. "I already know that, Ange."

Angela looked surprised, but recovered quickly. "Okay. But do you know _why_ she's pretending she doesn't?"

That got his attention, and he looked up sharply. "Aside from the obvious answer that she's having a hard time being around me after what happened in Albania, I would assume it's because the whole idea of relationships in general scares her. She thinks everybody that she loves leaves her. She thinks _I_ would leave her, and what happened on the plane just confirmed it to her."

Angela leaned across the table toward him this time. "You're wrong, Booth. That's what I thought too, the whole time she was trying to convince me that kissing you was a mistake and she didn't feel anything for you. So I tried to tell her that you would never hurt her _or_ leave her, and that's when she completely lost it. She forgot all about her little act, and got real. And the first words out of her mouth were that she _knew_ you wouldn't."

Booth's mouth fell slightly open, feeling like the world had just tilted underneath him. "She said that? That she knew I wouldn't hurt her or leave her?"

 _'Then why...'_

The world didn't get a chance to right itself before Angela set it spinning out of control again. "Yes. Right before she admitted that she can't control being afraid every time you get too close. She tries not to be, but she can't help it. That's what this is really all about, Booth: not being able to have sex. She said it wasn't fair to you - that if you were already giving up marriage and children to be with her, it wasn't fair to ask you to stay if she couldn't have sex with you."

For a moment he sat reeling, a dumbfounded look on his face, and then a moment later all Booth could see was red. Blind fury filled him, making him feel as though the top of his head was about to explode. Without thought, he reached for his wallet and threw the first bills he found onto the table before standing up angrily.

Angela watched her friend's reaction to her revelation in horrified fascination. He looked positively murderous, and for the first time in her life she was somewhat intimidated by the FBI man - even though his anger clearly was not directed at her. After his somewhat underwhelmed reaction to her assurance that Brennan loved him, she hadn't expected him to blow up when she revealed Brennan's reasoning. She didn't know why her revelation had produced such anger. What she did know was that Booth was preparing to storm out of the diner, and she didn't need to have a genius level IQ to know where he was going - and that going there with a head of steam wasn't going to fix anything.

Jumping up from her seat, she hurried around him and blocked his path, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. "Whoa, big guy. Sit down."

"Get out of my way, Angela." His voice was a barely controlled low growl, his eyes focused on a point past her. He wouldn't even look at her.

She had come this far for her friend - _both_ of her friends. He could act as tough and mean as he wanted. She had the advantage: she knew him well enough to know what he would and wouldn't do. It wasn't as if Booth would actually hurt her, so she refused to be intimidated by him any more than she had already. "No. Sit down, Booth. Sit down and calm down."

Booth yanked his wrist from her grasp, his eyes leveling on her angrily. "I said get out of my way, Angela. Now."

She actually took a step closer with a disbelieving chuckle, her voice bold. "Or what? You'll growl at me again?" Her face turning serious again, she still refused to back down. "I'm trying to help both of you, Booth. You need time to think about this before you say something to her that you're going to regret. Sit down and talk to me. Tell me why you're so mad. Because I'll be honest with you, Booth, I don't understand."

Crackling with tension, his eyes flicked past her to the door as though he still wanted nothing more than to stride angrily out of it and find the woman who had him tied up in knots. But after a moment, he gave her a tight nod and moved to sit back in his seat, ignoring the curious stares of the wait staff. They would certainly have something to talk about until the next time he came in.

Angela sat across from him quietly, waiting patiently, watching as Booth sat there alternately shaking his head, sighing, and clenching his jaw as though he just couldn't bring himself to believe what he had heard.

He could have handled hearing that she still believed, even after all this time, that he could possibly abandon her. That fear was one that ran deep in her, and he was prepared to deal with it for a lifetime, proving that fear to be unfounded every day of his life.

He could have even handled hearing that she didn't want to be around him _at all_ because of what he did in Albania. It would have hurt like hell, but at least it would make sense.

But finding out that she not only loved him but would _like_ to have a relationship with him, but just didn't trust him enough to know he wouldn't expect sex immediately? It felt like an attack on his character. His voice, when he finally spoke, was ragged in a way that left no doubt of the raw emotion coursing through him.

"Four years, Angela _. Four. Years_. Has she not heard one damn word I've said to her the whole time? Does she even have a clue who I am?"

"Booth..." Angela tried, wanting to calm him down as she saw him rapidly becoming more agitated. Even had he not cut her off, however, she wasn't sure what she would say. He was clearly going to make the same argument she had tried to make to Brennan, only with a thousand times the intensity.

"No, Angela! Do not make excuses for her! Everything I've done for her, everything I told her about love and making love and being with someone through thick and thin for a lifetime - she knows what I believe! I tell her I want all of that with her, and she...all she gets out of that is to boil the whole thing down to _sex?"_

His voice rose steadily until he fairly yelled the last word, slamming his fist onto the table for emphasis. Had it not been for the intensity of the moment, Booth and Angela might have both found it ironic that it was Booth who was suddenly shouting about sex in public, drawing the scandalized stares of other diners and the now openly staring diner staff.

His keen senses did pick up on the fact that he had an audience, but instead of shutting down in embarrassment he simply lowered his voice to an angry hiss as he continued to vent. "How can she even think that, Angela? After everything I've proven to her, how can she even think that I wouldn't be willing to work through _that_ with her - especially knowing that I'm the one who caused it? And even if I wasn't... I've worked through all of her other damn walls and hangups. And now, knowing that I _love_ her, suddenly she thinks all I want out of her is sex, and that I'll leave if she doesn't _put out_?" A disbelieving and disgusted sound crossed his lips. " _Jesus_ , Angela...if that was all I cared about, I could have had that and been gone a long time ago. It's _her_ that I want - just _her._ I'd wait for her forever and never love her any less."

Angela gingerly reached across the table and laid her hands on top of his. "I know that, Booth. You don't have to convince me, okay? I know that. I know what kind of man you are. But you have to understand. Brennan's not like you. She doesn't see the world the way you do. Every relationship she's ever had, that's all there was to it - a physical connection. She's never had an emotional connection to a man before. And yes, she has one with you; and yes, that scares her to death. She doesn't want to lose that. But when you start talking about love and being together, the first thing that comes to her mind is sex, and right now that's making her panic. She doesn't think she can keep the emotional connection without the physical one if she admits to her feelings. It's the only way she _knows_ to hold onto it, and she knows she can't do that right now. So she's trying to keep the status quo. In her own weird way, Brennan's pushing you away so she doesn't lose you. She truly thinks she's doing the best thing for _both_ of you."

Leaning back in his seat, Booth scrubbed both hands over his face, pulling them away from Angela. Blowing out a long, frustrated breath, he looked toward the ceiling. "You're right. I need some time to think about this before I talk to her. Because right now, I just want to shake her."

That actually drew a knowing smile from Angela. "Believe me, G-man, I get it. Don't worry, it probably won't be the last time, either. There's one other thing you should know, though."

Trying to return her smile and failing miserably, Booth wondered if he looked as exhausted as he felt. "And what's that?"

Serious again, Angela lowered her voice. "She's still having the nightmares, Booth. She had another bad one in the middle of the night last night. We slept in sleeping bags in the living room, and suddenly she was kicking and fighting and screaming." Angela shuddered in remembrance. "It was terrifying. It took forever to wake her up, and when I did, she screamed your name. I just thought you should know. She broke down right after that, and cried like her heart was broken."

Every trace of anger was gone, complete concern filling Booth's face. "When she called my name," he started hesitantly, "was she..."

"I don't know, Booth." She knew exactly what he was asking, and she was going to give him total honesty. "I can't honestly say. I'm not even sure _she_ knows."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, united in their shared concern for someone they both loved. The ringing of Booth's cell phone broke the moment, and he moved to answer without checking to see who it was.

"Booth."

"We have a positive identification."

He was used to his heart skipping a beat when he heard her voice recently. He wasn't used to it pissing him off that it did so. "That was fast."

"We had dental records, _and_ Mr. Bernadetti had a pin in his ankle. The serial number was a match."

Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he wanted to take her with him to make the arrest. An hour trapped in the car with her at that point was something that suddenly seemed less than pleasant. He was still hurting from the idea that she had been afraid _not_ so much of what he had done in Albania, but that she apparently thought he couldn't control himself in the future. Deep down he knew that he was oversimplifying and _definitely_ twisting her words somewhat, but at the moment he was insulted and hurt and that was what it felt like - an assault on his character. How could she have such a low opinion of him? He wasn't sure he could keep a tight enough grip on his tongue not to say something he would regret. Better safe than sorry...

"Thanks, Bones. That's all I needed to make the arrest. See you tomorrow."

Just before he could hit the button to disconnect the call, fully aware of Angela's eyes studying him like a hawk, he heard his partner's soft voice.

"You don't...want me to come with you?" Just like that, the rational professionalism was gone, and her voice was all insecurity and hurt and lost little girl again. His eyes slipped shut, and damned if he didn't want to beat his head on the table in front of him. Because suddenly he knew without question that Sweets was right: he needed help, and he needed it in the worst way; because he _still_ couldn't deny her or push her away when she reached out to him. He knew right then that he was beyond hope.

"Do you...want to come, Bones?" he asked, recognizing the hopeful tone in his voice. Strike that - he didn't just need help; he needed to be sharing a room with Zack at the asylum - it was the only possible explanation for why any part of him suddenly desperately hoped that she would say yes. He had to be some kind of sick masochist. Or maybe it was _her_ who drove people crazy to start with...

"Well..." she sounded as though she might back out.

In total disbelief, Booth looked to Angela for help, knowing with one look that she was able to hear both sides of the conversation through the cell phone. Inexplicably, her face showed hints of amusement, even as he felt like screaming. If Bones went through all that just to tell him she didn't want to go...

"It might be for the best, Booth. Considering your recent propensity for drowsy driving, perhaps you should have someone with you to keep you alert." One little incident, and now he had a 'propensity' and was some type of damn charity case.

"That's great, Bones." He only sounded slightly sarcastic, to his everlasting credit. "I'll pick you up in five minutes."

Hanging up, he shot Angela a look. "What?" So far as he could see, there was nothing to look amused about.

"Have a nice trip, Booth. Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome," he groused, still not quite understanding her delighted look as he stood up and made his way to the door to go pick up his partner.

ooo … ooo … ooo

The drive from D.C. to the suspect's home in Gaithersburg was approximately a 30 minute drive. Brennan spent about the first 15 minutes giving him her usual rundown of everything she had noted about the remains, what Hodgins was doing with the particulates, and the ballistics tests that were being run on the bullet and weapon. He let her words wash over him as he tried not to think about what he and Angela had discussed.

Her revelation had completely altered his way of thinking about what was going on between him and Brennan. He had been so sure that Brennan was running from him because relationships in general scared her about being abandoned, or because she was afraid of him after Albania and therefore didn't want a relationship with him at all.

But it wasn't either of those things. She knew he wouldn't abandon her in general- had admitted it to Angela. And she apparently _did_ want a relationship with him. She just didn't want sex right then - which he found completely understandable. It was her lack of faith in him to _be_ understanding that hurt so much. Why couldn't she have just told him? Being upset with what he did in the past he could accept; being nervous of him in the present he could accept; having no trust in him to do the right thing in the future was more than a little offsetting.

But as he thought about it more and cooled down while she rattled on about the case, he began to see things from her side. What had been his first act after telling her he loved her? Within moments, he had taken her mouth like he intended to take _her_ right then and there. Even as he had made the huge mistake of moving his lips down to her neck, he had known that he had no intention of going very much farther at that point: not in some ramshackle roach motel, not for something he had dreamed of for longer than he cared to admit. It wasn't even something he _wanted_ to do right then. He had his own scars from Albania. His intention in moving to her neck had been an effort to erase some of those scars from them both - the right intentions, gone about in completely the wrong way, in a moment where control eluded him. But how could she have known that? From her point of view, his kiss must have spoken of complete intent. If she had the idea that having sex _immediately_ was mandatory to having a relationship with him, he couldn't completely blame her or profess ignorance of where she might have got that idea.

No wonder she had panicked. Suddenly, he was very glad Angela had stopped him from storming out of that diner. He did need to talk about it with her...but it needed to be done in a very careful way, and that wasn't what would have happened right then. He would have put the final nail in the coffin of their relationship.

"Are you listening to me, Booth?"

His mind was a jumble of questions… _'What? Huh? Oh, crap.'_

"Of course I'm listening, Bones." A quick smile to cover his lie, and he assumed that she would just start rattling on about the case again as he tried desperately to figure out how to broach the topic he most wanted to discuss.

"Then aren't you going to turn around?"

"Huh?"

She was looking at him with that exaggeratedly patient kindergarten teacher look, the one that said he was obviously quite dense and she would speak more slowly so he could get it. "I was telling you that you just passed the Gaithersburg exit." She leaned slightly toward him, enunciating each word. "We're going. The wrong. Way."

He cleared his throat. "Right. I know. I'm taking the back way in." Sneaking a glance at her, he was surprised to see something that might pass for a smile pulling at the corners of her lips - a tiny smirk that usually meant she was going to attempt to drive him crazy. He had to be imagining it, but he still found himself wishing for it more than he could have ever imagined.

"Perhaps you should let me drive, Booth. Clearly you're too distracted to focus properly on your driving. That _is_ why I accompanied you, after all."

His head snapped toward her with a look of pleasantly amazed shock at her light, almost teasing tone. Was she trying to banter with him? It was something so normal that he wouldn't have expected it, least of all now. But suddenly he realized just how much he _needed_ some normal interaction with her - something that was just _them_ , and not filled with subtext and unspoken feelings.

He had been preparing to bring up what Angela had told him. But was Bones craving some normalcy as badly as he was? It was such an obvious place to start that he would have never thought about it - but after her talking for 15 straight minutes about the case and him not doing anything to push her or make her uncomfortable, maybe she had relaxed enough that she was falling back into their routine a little bit.

Suddenly, he was more grateful than he would have ever thought possible for missing a turn. Testing the waters, he put on his mock stern face and gave what he hoped was the appropriate response, pointing a finger for emphasis. "Forget it, Bones. You are _not_ driving this car. You don't even have your driver's license back yet. I'm in enough hot water as it is for wrecking the truck."

He was absolutely delighted to see one eyebrow go up and a familiar spark enter her eye as she rose to his challenge. "All the more reason you should let me drive - I'm not the one who has demonstrated a tendency toward distracted driving twice now in the past 24 hours."

He had taken the next exit by that time, and was winding his way back toward the correct road, taking his time now. Deep in thought for the first 15 minutes of drive time, his foot had been heavy on the accelerator. Suddenly, he didn't want this drive to end. "Twice? C'mon, Bones, I just missed an exit. That doesn't even count! It could happen to anybody."

She had narrowed her eyes at him. "Your point is irrelevant. It _didn't_ happen to anybody else. It happened to you. I'm quite certain that I would not have made the same mistake."

The happy smirk that lit up his face wasn't forced in any way this time. "Well _I'm_ quite certain that we're never going to find out, because _you_ are _never_ going to drive this car. Ever, Bones." Leaning slightly in her direction, he gave her his best cocky grin. "Ever."

Her arms crossed across her chest as she gave him a look he recognized. There was no flicker of fear as he leaned toward her, no anger, no hint of pulling back - just gloriously normal Bones meeting his challenge and refusing to let him have the last word. It almost made him dizzy.

"Perhaps Sweets would be interested in your territorial aggression issues."

"Sweets?" he almost whined back at her. "Why do you always have to drag Sweets into it every time you lose an argument?" He cut her off with a disbelieving snort before she could complain about _that_ remark. "And territorial aggression issues? You're making that up, Bones. There's no such thing."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there's not."

"There is."

"I've never heard of it."

"You're not a psychologist."

"Neither are you! You _hate_ psychology. But making up psychological conditions? That's bad even for you, Bones."

To his utter enthrallment, a truly happy chuckle broke free from her throat as she shook her head at him, a clear indication to him that he had caught her - and the first time he had heard her laugh in what seemed to be forever. An answering, completely dazzled smile broke out on his own face, and for just a moment they sat grinning at each other, happiness in both of their eyes. For Booth, it was as though the clouds were beginning to break free and finally allowing the sun to poke through.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?" He couldn't stop smiling, even as he realized he had been looking so much at her that he had almost run off the road.

"That's three."

"Three what?"

"You were distracted again. You ran off the road."

It was probably a bad idea, but he was going to say it anyway. Turning a soft smile in her direction, he let his heart show in his eyes as he lowered his voice to a more serious tone. "Yeah. You're right about that, Bones. I was definitely distracted." Winking at her happily, he turned his eyes back to the road and tightened his hands on the steering wheel, hoping he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

Her smirk faltered and her eyes dropped to her lap, and for just a moment his stomach sank. But from the corner of his eye, he saw the smirk come back as quickly as it had disappeared, and he almost wrecked a second time when she leaned toward him and poked him in the arm with one finger, her eyes gleaming. "So that _was_ three. Three strikes, you're out. I'm driving home."

His eyes danced even as he grumbled. "Jeez, Bones, how do you even _know_ that term?" She simply continued to look at him in triumph, and he finally gave a sigh that was supposed to sound defeated but sounded anything but. " _Now_ she finally gets a sports reference."

ooo … ooo … ooo

A comfortable, companionable silence of the type that was more characteristic for them had ensued for the final few minutes of the drive to the suspect's home. The hammering in his chest was back, however, at the idea of her being in even the slightest amount of danger. "Listen, Bones, this should be quick. Why don't you just wait in the car?"

She didn't even grace that with a response. She just got out and followed him to the door - or raced him to the door might have been a more apt description of the way she seemed determined to be by his side if not in front of him. They practically danced on the top step as he rang the bell, her continually trying to shuffle to a place by his side and him continuing to sidestep and move in front of her to keep her behind him. "Stop it, Bones," he stage whispered over his shoulder. "Just stay behind me!"

The arrest was easy as could be - the suspect had engaged in multiple conversations with the FBI since the murder, and had no reason to believe this time was any different. He opened the door, and Booth had him in handcuffs practically before the man comprehended Booth telling him that he was under arrest for murder. After patting him down and making sure he was clean of any weapons, he had him in the back of the car almost immediately.

Suddenly, he realized there was another thing he hated about driving a car instead of a nice, roomy SUV. Yes, the bastard was in handcuffs, and yes, Bones could probably kick his ass to the moon and back even now. But something about the idea of having his hands on the wheel instead of where he could protect her with a murderer two feet behind her made his skin crawl. He was going to have to get this ultra-protectiveness under control, but he could start tomorrow. He had just had a great idea of how to kill two birds with one stone: give her control, let her _know_ he was giving her control in plenty of ways that had nothing to do with driving, and be free to get at the prisoner behind them if the guy so much as breathed on her.

"Here ya go, Bones." He flipped her the car keys and made for the passenger side.

The shocked look on her face was more than worth it. "Booth, I can't actually drive. My driver's license is still in Albania."

Leaning against the top of the car and looking at her over it, he smirked at her. "You're with a cop, Bones. Shouldn't be a problem."

Again, she seemed eager to banter with him, putting her hands on her hips. That smile that kept threatening to break through on her face was like a balm to his soul. She was making progress before his very eyes - she was _trying_ to fix things between them, at least on a friendship level - and all he wanted to do was hug her for it. Hell, he was probably even going to hug Spencer when he got back to the Hoover Building. And Cullen. And maybe even Sweets...okay, well maybe not Sweets.

"I don't know, Booth. That seems even more reason to obey the law. You did arrest me once before."

Rolling his eyes, he got in the car and waited for her to get behind the wheel. "You shot an unarmed suspect with alcohol on your breath. This is a little different. I think I can look the other way on this one."

With one more suspicious look, she cranked the car. "And you're not going to make comments about my driving?"

It was the opening he was looking for. Fixing his eyes right on her, he spoke in a low voice meant to make sure she would catch his double meaning. "Nope. You're in control, Bones - 100%. You're behind the wheel. So however fast or slow you want to go, the decision is yours. Do you understand me?" Her gaze was utterly locked on him in mesmerized fascination, but he wasn't sure if she understood what he was trying to say. So he leaned in just a little bit. "You're completely in charge from here on out. I promise." Her slightly widened eyes and the way her breath caught told him that she was starting to get it. So just before leaning back away from her to buckle his seatbelt, he reiterated it one last time. "I'm _giving_ you control, Bones. Take it. For just as long as you need it."

Almost five minutes later as she guided the car back toward the highway, it was so quiet he almost missed it: "Thank you, Booth."

ooo … ooo … ooo

The presence of the prisoner kept their conversation to a minimum on the return trip, as he suddenly decided to ignore his right to silence and talk a blue streak. Unfortunately, it was mostly empty denials. The following three hours passed quickly with their return to the Bureau, the interrogation, and the eventual confession of the prisoner under Booth's relentless technique.

Both were exhausted after their first day back, as Booth let her drive them again back to the Jeffersonian. When they had emerged into the parking deck, only one awkward moment had occurred, when Booth automatically started toward the driver's seat. Seeing the disappointed look on her face had brought the smile back to his. "All you had to do was say something, Bones." He had given up the keys with a flourish, she had grinned back at him with almost childish delight that she was being allowed to drive, and they had made their way back to the Jeffersonian.

This time he didn't even consider not going inside with her. The air between them was so relaxed that he had almost forgotten that there were still huge obstacles standing between them. His hand even found its way onto her back - slightly higher than normal, but still there - as they walked through the door into the lab. He almost panicked when he realized it, but she never so much as tensed.

"Perhaps I should drive all the time, Booth," she began as they strode across the quiet lab. It was early evening by this time, and not many people were still there. "We made quite good time while still maintaining an acceptable gas mileage."

"Acceptable gas mileage? Is that code for taking off so slow I grew a beard before we hit 40 miles an hour?" he teased.

She only cut her eyes to the side in response before hitting him where it hurt. "Since I am in charge, I suppose this means you will finally be approving my application for a gun as well."

"Don't push it, Bones," he grinned. They were getting close to her office, and it was now or never. How could he be so nervous about the freaking diner? "You know, I'm starved. How 'bout we go to the diner? Since you're in charge, you can even have most of my fries."

She was opening the door to her office - "I ate most of your fries before."

She was flipping on her light, speaking again before he could come up with a witty retort. "But yes, that sounds fine. Just let me check my..."

And suddenly she froze, the atmosphere in the room going from light to tense in a heartbeat.

"Dr. Brennan!" Cam's voice called out to them as she appeared and strode quickly into the room. "I had meant to let you know about this. Dr. Benjamin sent all of your things to me."

Brennan's eyes were still locked on her suitcase and other personal items stacked neatly in the middle of her office floor. Booth could have screamed, strangled Cam, punched a wall or done all three. He almost heard the _slam_ as Brennan's walls went back up around her at the visual reminder of her ordeal.

"Thank you, Dr. Saroyan," he heard her say, her tone flat and with none of the spark he had been hearing all day.

Aside from his consternation at Brennan's reaction, Booth was having his own reaction to the sight of her luggage - pure and total panic. But not because of the suitcases themselves: it was the passport, ID, driver's license, car keys and other items that he wanted to dive on and shove in his pocket before she could get to them. His own reaction made him feel somewhat guilty - hadn't he just promised her control? And now he was acting like he wanted to keep her locked up like a prisoner. But without those items, even if she wanted to run from him she couldn't get very far. Now, if he so much as misstepped and she decided to run again, she could go anywhere in the world. The thought scared him to death.

The look on her face wasn't doing anything to calm him, either. Her posture was suddenly stiff and tight, and she barely looked at him as she turned to move to her desk. "Actually, Booth, I think I may stay here and start on my part of the paperwork. I'm exhausted." She hesitated before meeting his eyes in a look that just screamed _stay over there._ "It was agreeable to work with you again."

Agreeable? _Agreeable?_

And he had just given her control, and couldn't say one thing about her decision. Annoyingly, Sweets' voice telling him that this situation had the potential to be extremely frustrating for him popped into his head. Mentally poking his inner Sweets in the eye made him feel slightly better, but not very much.

He wasn't sure what to say about her last statement, so he softly responded to the part before it, keeping his promise to both of them not to push her. "All right, Bones. I'll see you tomorrow."

And he damn well would, case or not. If there wasn't a piece of paperwork on this case that required her signature, he was sure as hell going to draw one up. Exactly what the Bureau needed - more standardized forms.

He was in her doorway on his way out when he realized that he just couldn't do it. Stopping and leaning against the doorframe, he closed his eyes and didn't turn around to look at her. Quietly, he said the words that he wouldn't sleep that night if he didn't get out, feeling her eyes burning into his back. "In case you're wondering, Bones, I still mean every word I said to you. I love you. And I can't just pretend I never said it, even if you can. So you can play this how you need to, but that's not going to change. I gave you control, and I'm not taking it back…but I wish more than anything that you wouldn't use it to shut me out."

Without ever turning to look at her, he quietly strode from her office, making his way back to his own lonely office to do paperwork alone long into the night.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Two hours after Booth left, Brennan sat at her desk trying to focus on her portion of the paperwork for the case they had just completed. Despite herself, her eyes kept being drawn to the luggage in the middle of the room. Like clockwork, every time she focused on the luggage, her eyes would immediately be drawn to the door.

For a few short hours, life had seemed somewhat normal. It hadn't started that way, at all. The trip to the crime scene with Booth had been uncomfortable, awkward, and all of the other things she had been trying to avoid in the first place. But it had still come as a shock when she called him with the identification and he seemed not to want her to go with him to make the arrest. It had also come as a shock just how much that affected her. Pushing Booth away, as she had been doing, was not something she relished: it was simply necessary to protect them both. Him pushing _her_ away, however, was the exact opposite of what she had hoped to accomplish - and it frightened her. Their working partnership and friendship were what she was trying to preserve. She just didn't know how to go about it.

And so she had struggled to come up with the first believable reason she could think of for her presence to be required. His accident had been very prominent in her mind since she had learned of it, so it wasn't so surprising that it was the first thing she thought of.

Oddly, it was the sarcasm in his voice when he responded to her (admittedly) poor excuse for going with him - _'That's great, Bones' -_ that put the first real smile on her face all day. It had sounded so…normal. Instead of tiptoeing around her, he sounded much like he did when they would argue about religion, sex, or any of another 100 topics. She hadn't goaded him on purpose - at least not this time - but there was something so satisfying about putting that tone into his voice: something that made her feel like _herself._ And all of a sudden she wanted to do it again.

So when she realized in the car that he wasn't listening to a word she was saying about the case, the completely panicked look on his face when she called him on it ignited a spark in her and made her want to take a chance to restore their interactions to something approaching normalcy. It had felt so good to _laugh_ with Angela the night before. More than anything, she wanted to attempt the same with Booth. And that look on his face was certainly humorous. Perhaps he would be receptive to her efforts.

It had seemed awkward at first when she made a comment that seemed like one she would normally make - right up until the moment he responded in a way that was completely normal. She had barely been able to keep the smile from her face, as she was temporarily able to forget all of the problems between them and relax into the comfort of having her partner and friend back.

It had not exactly been effortless, but they had fallen easily enough into their banter, and had worked together as a team to complete the case. It was what she had hoped for when she left for work that morning. So when Booth asked her to accompany him to the diner at the end of the day, she was initially eager to accept his invitation. It was what they _did_ together, and that was what she wanted back.

And then Albania had dropped back onto her with a resounding thud.

There sat her luggage - luggage she had packed in hopes of authenticating an exciting find and exploring a country she had never visited; luggage she had left in a hotel room she believed she was coming back to, utterly oblivious to what was about to happen to her.

Her heartrate had increased, and there was that trapped feeling again, filling her with nervous anxiety about having Booth so close - about having anybody so close, especially between her and the door. Suddenly, the idea of going with him to the diner was more than she could face. She needed some space. She just needed some space, and she could work with him the next day, and they could fall back into their normal pattern again.

But then he had to go and do it - had to say what she had been trying to forget all day.

He had to remind her that he loved her.

There had been a couple of close calls in the car that had almost made her falter: when he had winked at her and told her in that low, gravelly voice that he had definitely been distracted, she had felt the warmth rise up her cheeks from her neck. There was no questioning what he meant - he was implying that he found _her_ distracting, most likely in a sexual manner. The only question was, when her decision was firmly made, why did his obvious flirtation produce what Angela would undoubtedly refer to as 'butterflies' in her abdomen? She had recovered quickly, returning their banter back to the safe level it had been at previously. She wasn't willing to give that up so easily after only just having regained it.

But then when he told her that she was completely in control and could go as fast or slow as she wanted, she was almost entirely certain he was alluding to more than driving his car; when he told her that he was giving her control for as long as she needed, she had been sure of it. The gesture was one that she found strangely touching and comforting all at the same time. It had been a full five minutes before she trusted her voice to say something, and even then a quiet thank you, though woefully inadequate, was all she could manage. For the first time, it felt as though Booth understood what she was experiencing.

Even that loaded moment had passed, however, and allowed her to continue her banter with him.

But how was she supposed to ignore what he said at the door as he left? It left her no escape clause whatsoever. He loved her. He wasn't going to pretend he didn't. He said it wasn't going to change no matter _what_ she did, and by the determined set of his shoulders she suspected he meant that.

And for some reason, she had been watching that damn door ever since.

With a frustrated sigh, she lowered her eyes to her paperwork, rifling through it, pretending she didn't know what she was looking for.

She could save it until tomorrow. She _should_ save it until tomorrow. Booth had likely gone home anyway. He certainly needed the sleep. Angela was certainly waiting for her at home.

But the file couldn't be completed until she had his signature.

Before she could think about it, she dug through the items in her office and located her wallet and her car keys. She would take a cab home, get her car, and then she would go to the Hoover building. He likely wasn't there anyway. She would just leave the form for him, and he could send it back to her tomorrow.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth sat at his desk, papers spread out all around him. But he wasn't working, at least not on paperwork.

He was completely immersed in the literature he had gone straight to Sweets' office and asked him about after leaving Bones at the Jeffersonian, much to the psychologist's shock. He hadn't actually expected Booth to want the pamphlets he had offered about PTSD and Rape Trauma Syndrome; clearly, he had underestimated the man again.

Booth had also not expected to engage in so much research. He _knew_ Bones, after all, and had faith in his own ability to know how to handle her. But seeing that trapped, panicked look reappear on her face at the sight of her luggage, even after seeming so normal for a few hours prior to that, was a wake up call for him. Everything was _not_ normal, nor was it suddenly going to be, and he was finally beginning to realize that he was in way over his head. If he kept trying to walk the tightrope without knowing what he was doing, he was bound to fall and hurt them both. He might lose her forever; but even more frightening, she might lose herself.

What was surprising as he delved into the material was exactly how right Sweets had been. She _was_ behaving much like a rape survivor. He had limited knowledge of such matters thanks to FBI training, but had never studied it in depth - especially not long-term recovery. He knew more about immediate reactions as they would pertain to questioning.

Of special interest to Booth was the material written specifically for spouses or romantic partners. He devoured every word, sometimes cringing at his own stupidity and other times being surprised that he had said or done exactly the right thing without even realizing it.

When he had read everything Sweets gave him, he turned to the Internet, searching out more information designed specifically for romantic partners, jotting down anything he found of note.

It never even crossed his mind that she might appear in his office, and he was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn't even hear her approach until she was only a few steps from his desk.

"What's this?"

He almost jumped out of his skin, his face draining of all color when he saw the look on her face - something on his desk had caught her eye, and he had a horrible feeling he knew what it was.

"Bones! What are you doing here? I..." He made a grab for the colorful stack of brochures, intending to stick them all in his lap or shove them surreptitiously in a drawer, but his reaction was too delayed and she was too fast for him. Three of them were in her hands before he could blink.

"Rape Trauma Syndrome? What Not to Say to a Rape Victim? Dealing with the Rape of Your _Spouse?"_

"Bones."

She was so livid she was shaking. "What the _hell_ are you doing, Booth?" she hissed.

"Bones, just listen to me for a minute." He kept his gaze steady and his tone even, despite the fact that he was in a total panic.

She was having none of it. He had never seen her so furious. "I _wasn't raped_ , Booth. And we are not married. We are not _going_ to be married."

"I know that, Bones. You weren't supposed to see this. Will you just calm down and let me talk to you?"

She slapped the pages back down on his desk, hard. "Calm down? Is that what I'm supposed to do, Booth? Is that what your research says?" She was out of control already, and when he just sat looking at her quietly rather than yelling back at her, it only infuriated her more.

Dropping her eyes to his desk, a sheet of plain white printer paper with Booth's distinctive handwriting on it caught her eye - the fruits of his Internet research. Reaching out and grabbing it, her eyes grew wide as she scanned down the page, picking out a couple of items to read out loud: "Let her know exactly how you're going to touch her and when? Continually talk to her and reassure her during intimate..."

She got no farther before he reached out and snatched the paper from her hand. He was standing now, the desk still between them, his eyes squeezed shut. The hand holding the paper went to rest on his hip, while his other hand rubbed at the back of his very bright red neck. "It's not for right now, okay, Bones? I'm not expecting... will you please just let me explain?"

It felt like the walls were closing in on her, and she had to get out of there _right then._ "I don't care. I just needed you to sign this form. I'll leave it for you, and you can messenger it over tomorrow."

She was storming for the door, and he had to stop her. "Bones, _listen_ to me..."

In a flash, she whirled back around at him. "I'm _not_ a helpless victim, Booth, and I don't want to be treated like one. Nothing happened to me. I'm _fine."_

He had made his way around his desk, and was only a few steps away from her when he saw her stiffen. Stopping his forward progress immediately, he tried to make her understand. "You're _not_ fine, Bones. And you know it. We both know it every time I come toward you and you flinch…like just now. I know you're not a helpless victim, and I'm not trying to treat you like one. But sometimes it feels like..."

He hesitated, but she cut him no slack whatsoever. Taking an angry step toward him, she jutted her chin out, daring him. "It feels like what?"

His eyes searched the ceiling for help, and after a moment he clicked his tongue against his teeth with a bitter bark, a sound that distinctively said he knew what he was about to say was going to get him in trouble and he no longer cared. "Like you're not just a victim, but like you're _my_ victim. It feels like I did this to you, Bones."

Insecurity flashed across her face, instantly suspicious. "So that's what this is all about?" she asked, gesturing toward the papers on his desk. "You just want to fix what you think you've broken?"

"NO!" He was yelling by now, but couldn't bring himself to stop. It was all he could do not to grab her by the arms and push her against the door to just make her shut up and _listen_ to him. Modulating his voice was just too much to ask. Apparently, so was thinking through what he was saying.

Every bit of the frustration and rage he had felt in the diner dropped back on his head, only this time without Angela's quieting influence there to calm him down. There was just an infuriating woman who could push him over the edge so fast that it was fucking scary.

" _Goddamnit_ , Bones, why do you have to twist everything I say? I'm doing this because I _love_ you. I'm doing this because I don't know how to convince you that all I need is for you to just admit you love me back. I'm doing this because it _kills_ me that you're pretending not to love me, just because you suddenly seem to think I'm not capable of keeping it in my pants when I damn well _know_ neither of us are ready!"

The words were through his brain and out of his mouth almost before he realized it. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open, and when she turned and walked away without another word he didn't dare follow.

What the hell had he just done? And how could she shoot his good intentions all to hell without even trying, making him self-destruct every single damn time?

It was only as he sank back down in his desk chair that he realized he still didn't know why she had come to his office to begin with.

What had made her seek him out? Because it sure as hell wasn't that she wanted him to sign that form.

ooo … ooo … ooo

As she drove back to the Jeffersonian, Brennan's mind raced. Booth had certainly given her plenty to think about.

She wasn't sure why it had upset her so very badly when she realized what Booth was reading. Maybe it was because it was so important to her that Booth not see her as a victim. Maybe it was the automatic assumption on his part that it was up to him to 'help' her, when she had made it clear that she intended their relationship to be partners and friends only. Maybe it was the complete sense of powerlessness that again flooded her at the insinuation that she was a _rape victim._

Whatever the reason, it had filled her with so much rage that she hadn't even given him a chance to explain. But he had asked her several times to let him explain what was going on. Maybe it wasn't what it looked like. Perhaps there was a logical reason and she had simply overreacted.

That wasn't what preoccupied the majority of her thoughts, however.

Booth's revelation that he knew she was intentionally lying about not having feelings for him was what had sent her running for the door. That he knew it had something to do with sex and her inability to be near him without feeling fear was completely mortifying. It had thrown her off balance, almost as much as his next statement: Booth wasn't ready for a sexual relationship between them either? Why not?

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she made her way into her office and began gathering up her luggage and belongings to take home. It took two trips to her car, but she finally had everything loaded. The physical activity gave her something to focus on, giving her an idea. For the first time, she felt up to going to the gym. Perhaps physical exercise would help to clear her mind so that she could decide what to do next.

Some part of her wondered if she should call Booth and apologize, while part of her still wanted to call and yell at him some more. It was that very conflicted feeling that helped her make the decision to log some time at the gym before going home for the night to deal with Angela and her questions. Having a plan always left her feeling more in control, and she would be able to think more clearly if she got her heartrate up.

Ooo … ooo … ooo

Not much time passed before Booth realized that he could not let the night pass without apologizing. While what he said was true, he had said it in the wrong way. He needed to do damage control, and he needed to do it right then. He needed to explain things clearly to her. He also needed to do it face to face, so he didn't bother trying to call her.

He started first at her apartment, noticing instantly that her car was not there - it had never moved since before she left for Albania, and now it was gone. A tight fist of fear began to squeeze his heart. A quick call up to the apartment and speaking with Angela confirmed to him that not only was Bones not home, Angela hadn't even known that she had her car. She must have taken a cab home and picked up her car without going inside.

He broke every speed limit law and several other traffic laws getting back to her office, absolutely terrified that he would find exactly what he _did_ find when he entered her office. All of the luggage was gone - every bit of it; which meant that she also had her passport, ID, credit cards, and everything else she would need to disappear permanently. She also wasn't picking up her cell phone.

He was sick with fear when he called Angela back, praying that she would tell him Brennan had showed up since he left. Of course, she hadn't.

Ooo … ooo … ooo

An hour later, after driving around aimlessly trying to figure out where he should start or _if_ he should even start, Booth finally picked up his phone the fourth time Angela called him, letting her talk him into coming to Brennan's apartment so they could figure out together what to do. He could tell she was worried about him, and so he relented.

His heart almost stopped when he saw Brennan's car parked in its normal spot, wondering why Angela hadn't called him. Even as he told himself that she probably just brought it back there and took a cab so he couldn't put out an A.P.B. on her car, he still found himself sprinting across the parking lot and up her stairs.

He burst out of her stairwell into her hallway, just in time to find her also standing in the hallway and putting her key in the lock to enter her apartment. Her suitcases sat on the floor behind her, where she had dropped them to open the door, and she was dressed in gym clothes with her hair in a ponytail. He wanted to weep with relief when he realized that she hadn't run.

The sudden appearance of someone crashing through the stairwell door startled her, and she spun around ready to defend herself. She immediately noticed his red-rimmed eyes, her heartrate picking up. "Booth?"

"Bones! I..." Everything hit him all at once, and he couldn't say any more. All of the emotions of the entire past week, the ups and the downs and the goddamn terror of feeling _three_ separate times like she was gone forever, and now she was going to probably kick his ass for showing up at her apartment after the way he had talked to her earlier. He shoved his hands in his pockets and bit his lip, looking upwards, sideways, anywhere but at her as he felt the tears pricking at his eyelids. He was about to break down and cry in the middle of her hallway, and for the life of him he didn't know why. He couldn't even remember what he had wanted to say to her when he first started looking for her.

Someone was speaking, and it was him - but he wasn't saying what he really wanted to say. All of the things he needed so badly to tell her about what he had _really_ meant in his office were not what was coming out of his mouth.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry, Bones - for yelling at you earlier. I wasn't trying to upset you. I just...I'll just see you tomorrow."

His back was barely turned when she called out to him. ""Booth, wait!"

He turned to see her walking toward him, her eyes glued on his face. As she managed to do once in a blue moon, and only ever with him, her attempt to decipher his expression was a home run.

"You thought I left again."

Unable to trust his voice, he just nodded, hoping he could hold the tears back just a little longer.

She stopped just a single step from him. "And you were going to look for me? Again? You were still going to try to find me?" She was searching his eyes so intently that even in his current state he could see how crucial that question was - how important that he answer correctly.

He had no idea what the correct answer was. All he had to offer was the truth, so he gave it to her, even though he suspected that this particular truth might be the final nail in his coffin. At least she was already packed, so that would save her some trouble.

"Yes, Bones. I was going to look for you." His eyes slipped shut to stem the flow of the tears he knew were about to fall when he saw the amazement in her eyes. How could she not know how valuable she was to him? How could she not know how valuable she was in general? How many different assholes had hurt her in her life to make her believe she wasn't worth chasing? "I'd follow you to the ends of the earth," he admitted, never opening his eyes. "I already have. I'd do it as many times as it takes."

Forcing his eyes open, he could read nothing from the sea of blue staring back at him. When she didn't ask any more questions but only continued staring at him as though she were trying to solve the mysteries of the universe just by looking into his eyes, he finally cracked under the weight of her gaze. "I'm sorry, Bones. I didn't mean to bother you tonight. See you tomorrow."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Anxiety suddenly flowed through Brennan when Booth turned to leave. Only one night before, he had fallen asleep at the wheel, and she now knew that he must have spent at least the last couple of hours since she left his office looking for her. The thought of him getting back behind the wheel at such a late hour, especially seeing his red, exhausted eyes, was enough to send a shudder through her. It was enough to make her act.

His back wasn't even turned before a small but strong hand closed on his forearm just below his elbow. "No - stay. Please."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

 _"No - stay. Please."_

Slowly, Booth turned to fully face Brennan, his normally sharp mind taking a moment to process the very last thing he had expected to hear her say.

His dark eyes fixed on his partner in a gaze so intense - and filled with disbelief - that it almost sent a shiver through her, though in a far different way than the fear response she had become accustomed to.

"What? Why?" Booth managed in not much more than a half-whisper, needing desperately to know her motivation before he could even think about an answer.

For Brennan's part, she could only stare back at him, not yet willing to drop her last defenses…unable to simply let go and tell him how much she cared about him.

Her lack of an answer set his heart to thudding with something akin to terror, as he watched her fighting an obvious battle with herself, still holding his arm in a death grip.

His dark eyes turned even darker as his body put one meaning to her unexplained request, even as his mind and heart struggled to understand what she was asking. God help him, if she were about to prove Sweets right and try to come on to him again to prove something to herself, it was going to be the end of him. It had been in the back of his mind ever since Sweets brought it up as a possibility, to wonder how he would handle the situation if it happened again. The only conclusion he had come to was that it would probably kill him.

And hours earlier, she had been standing in his office angrily arguing that nothing was wrong with her. What if she had now decided she wanted to prove it? Just like that motel room… He couldn't go through that again, especially if she intended to try to use him to regain control of her body and then hang his heart out to dry.

Even if she didn't, he couldn't make the same mistake again. And yet hearing the woman he loved asking him to stay...with all of the adrenaline still coursing through him from thinking she was gone, his powers of perception - _and_ his control - weren't things he trusted at the moment. Taking a step back, he tried to disentangle his arm from her grasp.

"I should go, Bones."

He had managed to loosen her grip on his actual arm, but her fingers caught and fisted into the sleeve of his jacket. A tinge of desperation colored her voice. "Please, Booth. You said I was in charge. And what I want is for you to stay."

Swallowing hard, his eyes looked around wildly as though searching for escape. "Bones..."

"You shouldn't be driving right now. _Please_ , Booth. I'll send Angela home and you can have the guest room."

He went very still as, little by little, the anxiety slowly seeped out of him.

She wasn't coming on to him.

She wasn't trying to prove to herself that she could still have sex.

She was just worried about him. _Very_ worried about him, as he could finally read in her eyes now that his alarm had begun to dissipate. His breath left him all in a _whoosh_ , and a nervous laugh forced its way out along with it. Suddenly, the most important thing in the world was that if she wanted to reach out to him, he not reject her in the slightest.

"That...that sounds great, Bones. Thank you." Without stopping to think about it too much, he pulled his sleeve gently from her grasp, only to catch her same hand tenderly in his own as he asked for just a bit more. "But can we talk in the morning? About what happened today?"

She responded to the pleading in his eyes, knowing in her own mind that Booth was right. If he already knew that she was pretending not to love him and why, there was no logic in refusing to talk to him about it. But she was not up to it that night, and he didn't appear to be either. "Yes. We'll talk tomorrow."

ooo … ooo … ooo

In the end, Angela did leave but Booth refused the guest room, opting to take the couch instead. He claimed that the room just still smelled too girly from Angela being there for days, but the truth was that he just felt more comfortable on the couch. Being on any bed that belonged to Brennan was just more mental imagery than he needed with everything that had happened, especially after the near heart attack she'd prompted in the hallway.

Any small part of him that had still wanted to attempt conversation with her that night was destined to be silenced. She seemed as exhausted as he was. Quickly, almost businesslike, she had provided him with blankets and a pillow just moments after the door closed behind Angela (who had been only all-too-delighted to leave them alone), and bid him good night.

It was only just before she disappeared from the living room that her step faltered, and she turned a questioning, anxious look in his direction.

He stopped unfolding the blanket he had been preparing to spread out, and fixed his eyes on her.

"What is it, Bones?" he asked gently.

Her eyes flicked away, then back to him nervously. "You're going to stay, right? You won't drive until you've slept?"

Her unsureness of him sent a stab right through his chest. How had things between them become quite so screwed up? None of his inner turmoil showed in the reassuring smile he gave her. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise you, Bones. I'll be here when you wake up."

Her chin bobbed once in a satisfied nod, the businesslike move doing nothing to mask the emotion he could clearly read in her eyes.

"Good."

ooo … ooo … ooo

Sleep was a long time coming, as he pondered how to talk to her the next day. He knew he would have to explain the literature she had found him with, and he was definitely going to have to clear up her misconceptions about thinking he was hellbent on taking her straight to bed if she admitted she loved him.

He was going to have to convince a woman who barely believed in love - a woman who was all about 'biological urges' and physical connections - that he loved her enough to keep his hands to himself.

It was going to be an uphill climb at best.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Brennan went to sleep with worry in her mind that she would have another nightmare with Booth just down the hall. It had never crossed her mind to think that Booth himself might be having some of the same problems that she was having.

At 3:00 in the morning, she sat bolt upright, fully awake in a heartbeat. Had someone just screamed? Even worse, was it her?

"BONES! NO!"

Flinging the covers back, she ran down the hall in the modest tank top and yoga pants she had opted to sleep in, knowing that it was possible she would have a nightmare that might end up bringing Booth into her room.

Ooo … ooo … ooo

His nightmare was back, in excruciating detail.

The curve of the blade around her throat; the light bouncing off of it; the weight of the gun in his hands - a gun that wasn't his and that he wasn't sure of; the sound of Naji's footsteps as he suddenly rushed the man who literally held Bones' life in his hands; the panicked realization that he _had_ to shoot - that Naji had given him no choice.

Just like the night before, he pulled the trigger.

Just like the night before, he saw her try to wrench away from the man at the same time.

Just like the night before, he screamed her name as he helplessly watched the bullet fly directly at her in slow motion.

Just like the night before, it was over before he could do anything about it.

Oxygen eluded him as he dropped to his knees before her, sobs building in his throat even as he struggled for air to expel them. Shoving the man's hands away from her, he ignored the tiny line of red where the knife had gashed her throat as she fell. No more blood was coming from it - there was nothing left beating to pump it. Instead, his hands hovered above the gaping hole he had put into the center of her forehead, afraid to touch it as he pleaded with her lifeless, accusing eyes.

"God...Bones, please. Bones, NO! Wake up...please wake up! I'm so sorry...please, BONES!"

Another voice was yelling, too.

"Wake up...please wake up. Booth! Wake up!"

In his mind, he skittered away from her in terror. He could hear her voice, but he was still staring at her corpse. Blind panic washed over him as he tried to back away, but something was stopping him.

"Booth! It's me...it's Bones. I'm here. Come on, Booth...wake up."

His eyes flew open as he surged upwards, falling off of the couch onto the ground and almost landing on the most welcome sight he had ever seen. Breathing harder than if he had run a marathon, he managed to gasp out her name as he rose to a sitting position on the floor beside where she knelt, his hand hovering just inches from her face as he looked at her as though he didn't believe she was really there.

"Bones?" he whispered, agony in his voice.

Her hands were on his shoulders, and she was right there, gloriously alive. "I'm here, Booth. I'm right here. It's okay. You were just having a...oh!"

He almost knocked the wind out of her when he grabbed her in a crushing embrace, his head dropping instantly to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He was shaking so hard that his own violent trembling shook her whole body along with him. His arms were two bands of steel around her upper back and her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh through her thin tank top. He was rocking her back and forth as though to comfort her, but he was the one who had finally broken. She felt the hot tears running onto her neck only moments before she heard and felt the first sob wrack his strong frame as he clutched her. "Bones...oh God..."

"Shhh..." she soothed, wishing she knew what to say, her own emotion making it difficult to think clearly. Booth would know what to do if it was her, and so she tried to think what he would do if their roles were reversed.

"I'm here, Booth. I'm not in any danger."

His arms only crushed her harder against him as he hauled her fully into his lap, the arm around her upper back snaking up so that he could palm the back of her skull tightly in his splayed out fingers, which immediately became hopelessly entangled in her hair.

He was still shaking, gasping into her neck. She let go of her grip on his arms, where her hands had automatically flown in reaction to his sudden embrace, and instead wound her arms around his body, holding as tightly as she could, giving in to the instinctive pull to rub his back in soothing circles.

Again, she was frustrated with the fact that her actions only seemed to worsen the situation, as he clutched her against him even more desperately, his flow of tears unabated.

"God, Bones...I thought I'd lost you. I love you so much."

The harshly whispered words against her shoulder gave her the clarity she needed to know exactly what he needed to hear.

The truth.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her face more tightly against his shoulder as she whispered the words that she knew he already knew to be true. "I'm here, Booth - I'm not going anywhere. I… I need you too, because…"

He gasped against her neck before pulling back to look at her in disbelief, his other hand going up to join the one that still tangled in her hair. With both of his hands gently cupping her neck and lower skull, he looked down at her with tears still flowing down his face and his mouth slightly open. He was suddenly so still that she wasn't even sure he was still breathing.

He was waiting for something, and this time she knew what it was. Taking a shaky breath, she looked right into the warm, reassuring brown eyes of the man who had followed her across the world and would have done so again that very night, without question. All of her questions were answered. It was time to answer his. So she said the words she had never expected to be able to say, at least not with the knowledge that they were completely, irrationally, illogically, unquantifiably true.

"Because I love you."

… ooo … ooo …

 _"I love you."_

Booth's eyes slipped shut momentarily as he let out the breath he had been holding, almost wondering if he was still dreaming. As he opened his eyes, both of his hands at the back of her neck slid softly around until they were tenderly framing her face. His touch was incredibly gentle, especially considering the depth of emotion raging through him mingled with the adrenaline that still coursed through his veins from his nightmare.

"Bones?" he whispered in questioning wonder, still unsure if he had heard her correctly. His eyes were locked on hers, searching for any sign of doubt or deception - or worse, pity.

Brennan correctly deciphered the uncertainty in his eyes, feeling a stab of guilt that she had led this amazing man to think for even a second that she didn't care about him. The realization hit her hard: he had done everything he did for her, without any assurance that she returned his feelings - and with no expectation of reward. It only further confirmed to her what she already knew to be true.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, and she didn't fight the urge to move them up to softly cup his face in her hands, mirroring the way he held her, her arms inside the circle of his. "I do love you, Booth. I'm not saying it simply to console you. I wouldn't say it if I wasn't entirely certain."

He knew that statement to be true, and his hands dropped down to her shoulders, needing to tighten his grip on her. He had imagined this moment for so long that it almost felt as though she would slip right through his fingers if he didn't hold on to her - it was too good to be true.

"Bones..." His tone still held a note of awe. Knowing she returned his feelings was one thing. Hearing it come out of her mouth in such a calm, completely certain manner - without a doubt in her voice - was quite another. He wanted to hear it again, several thousand more times. "You love me?"

She still sat in his lap on the floor, where he had pulled her in the aftermath of his nightmare. Her body was turned sideways to his body, with her feet out in front of her to his left side. Making no move to disengage herself from that position, she tilted her head to the side as a soft smile lit her features, one hand stroking his face as the other curved around to the back of his neck. Stretching upwards, she gave him his answer by placing a light, tender kiss on one side of his face and then the other. Tilting his head down with the hand at the back of his neck so that she could reach, she placed one in the center of his forehead as well, before finally changing the entire atmosphere in the room by bringing her lips to hover just millimeters before his.

His hands flexed and closed on her shoulders, kneading them as he fought to keep himself in check. Suddenly very mindful that she was sitting _on his lap_ in nothing more than thin yoga pants and a spaghetti-strapped tank top that left bare skin under his hands, the feel of those soft, adoring kisses that he was fairly certain she had never bestowed on any man before him was practically a sensory overload. The urge to just crush her against him after the terror of his nightmare was still running strong through him, and hearing her say she _loved_ him made him almost delirious with the desire to kiss her. All of those things combined with her breath mingling with his - as her lips hovered so close that all he would have to do was lean forward just a fraction of an inch to taste her again - made for a very dangerous combination.

Had it not been for the lingering effects of his nightmare and the terror, it wouldn't have even been an issue. He could have easily controlled himself. But as it was, he was practically shaking with barely restrained need to physically reassure himself of her presence - it wasn't even desire; it was _need_. And he could _not_ let himself make the same mistake again.

She seemed determined to torture him, however, as she was speaking again and he could feel her breath tickling his lips as she spoke. "Yes, Booth. Completely."

Her answer to his question sent his head spinning, and he couldn't have said for sure which one of them closed the distance, although if he was still a betting man he would have put his money on her. He was pretty sure that his better sense had prevailed and he had never moved. All he knew was that suddenly her lips were pressed against his in the single softest kiss he had ever been part of.

If he had any remaining doubt that she loved him, it was gone in that instant. Temperance Brennan, proponent of wild, uninhibited, casual sex, a scoffer at the concept of making love, had just pressed a sweet, chaste kiss against his lips and then pulled away to look at him adoringly. He could have died happy in that moment. She had always made it clear that soft and gentle just wasn't her thing. The fact that that was exactly the way she had chosen to kiss _him_ spoke volumes to him. He was different to her; this wasn't just about biological urges to her.

She really loved him.

His eyes squeezed shut again of their own accord. He was utterly committed to not repeating his mistake in that motel room by trying to kiss the breath right out of her, but it was time to get her out of his lap. It was the cruelest of ironies that when she had finally come over to his way of thinking and was kissing him softly, that very fact was causing his body to scream for the exact opposite. He knew he had grabbed her like a wildman when he first came out of his nightmare. He was damn lucky that was all he had done, considering that from his perspective waking had been like being given a second chance: she had been dead before his eyes, and suddenly she was there, warm and gorgeous and _touching_ him.

He hoped she would never suspect just how much her very presence there when he woke up was like playing with fire. Grabbing her and squeezing her for all he was worth had been the safest route. At best, it had taken a superhuman effort not to kiss her in a way that would have made that motel room kiss seem like a peck on the cheek. At worst, he was ashamed to admit that part of him had been flooded with an overwhelming desire to roll her under him and bury himself inside her right there on her living room floor until he could feel her heart beating from the inside out, desperately pumping his own life into her. The fact that he wouldn't have done it under any circumstances, however, did nothing to make him feel less guilty for the fact that he had wanted it in those first moments...badly.

His breathing was slowly beginning to return to normal as the adrenaline dissipated, and sanity was beginning to return. Partially to keep her from kissing him again, he dropped his head to her shoulder, brushing a gentle kiss there as he lightly wrapped his arms around her. The more his senses returned, the more terrified he was by the way he had grabbed her, even if it had been the best out of three terrible options. "I'm sorry, Bones. I shouldn't have grabbed you like I did. I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again."

Her arms snaked under his to wrap around his waist almost immediately. She snuggled a little closer to him as she tucked her head up against his where it rested on her shoulder, completely missing his sharp hiss as she wiggled her way across his lap to snuggle closer to his chest. She hadn't thought about it until he mentioned it, but she suddenly realized that not even one tiny flicker of fear had passed through her since she had woken him up, even though he _had,_ in fact, grabbed her quite aggressively. She had been so focused on him and concerned for him that it must have overridden her own fear response. "It's all right, Booth," she reassured him. "I understand. You didn't frighten me."

His arms only tightened just the tiniest amount around her in response, before he made a conscious effort to loosen them again.

"What happened in your dream, Booth?" she murmured into the crook of his neck, where her lips had found their way of their own volition. "Clearly, it was quite disturbing."

This time when his arms tightened, it was more than a little, and he didn't loosen them. "Bones..."

He didn't need to go back down that road and think about that at that exact moment. Just having her mention it was ramping up the tension in him again, along with the desperation for her. "I really don't think _...Jesus!"_

When he had started to protest, she had tried to shift to face him, reminding him of exactly why he needed to get her out of his lap. It didn't help matters that she had frozen at his sudden harsh exclamation, pulling her hands away from him just a little as her eyes went wide. "What?"

He had startled her when he called out, and that was almost worse than the cause for it. Closing his eyes to fight the embarrassment, he realized there was little he could do to save face. "Just be still. Okay? Just...please be still."

"Oh." It was a quiet, tiny little sound that made him want to die. "Sorry."

He hadn't bothered to open his eyes yet, because he was quite certain his prayers hadn't been answered. He was not going to suddenly find himself somewhere - anywhere - else. Her weight on his lap pretty much confirmed it. "No, _I'm_ sorry. Damnit. This is not what..." Frustrated and flustered, he trailed off and tried again. "Bones, I need you to understand. I have absolutely no intention of..."

"I know, Booth." She answered him way too fast, before he could even finish his thought, and he wanted to curse Tolka, Benjamin, and everybody else involved all over again. All he wanted was to bask in the glow of her admitting she had loved him. Instead, he was going to get to have _this_ conversation - one he had not looked forward to and which he wasn't fully prepared for. He had fallen asleep earlier while still trying to decide what to say when morning came, and he still was no more prepared than he had been when he got to her apartment. It would be easier to do it with her _not_ in his lap, but he had a bad feeling that if she got too far away from him right then she wouldn't be coming back.

He didn't speak again fast enough, and she apparently felt compelled to fill the silence. But she was talking way too fast, and sounded much more nervous than Temperance Brennan should ever sound about something so natural as an erection. If he hadn't known exactly why, it might have been endearing or even flattering. As it was, he _did_ know, and it just made things worse. "It's a completely natural and uncontrollable physical response to sexual stimuli. The friction of..."

"Bones...stop, okay?" he begged. "I know why it bothers you, all right? I feel the same way. It's what I was trying to tell you yesterday when..."

But God help him, she wasn't finished and she cut him off again, with that same nervous tone. "There's no reason for you to be embarrassed, Booth, especially this time. I admit that in Albania…"

That did it. In complete, abject horror, his hands spanned her waist in a heartbeat lifting her, and she found herself moved off of his lap and onto the floor beside him where she had started. She blinked at him a couple of times from her new spot sitting beside him. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Yes!" he thundered, but then he saw the look on her face and he couldn't help but soften his tone. She was just being _her._ He couldn't fall in love with her for being exactly that and then hold it against her when it drove him up the wall - or made his entire face flame bright red. Reaching out carefully, he held out one of his hands to her in invitation, giving her the option to take it or not. She immediately laid her hand in his, which made him smile. "I mean no, Bones. You didn't say anything wrong. But we really, really need to have that talk now. I don't think it can wait until morning. Can we just sit down, right up there on your couch, and really _talk_ \- complete honesty, not holding anything back?"

Her head inclined slightly to the side, and the considering look on her face made his lips twitch. She wasn't going to make it easy for him, but then when had she ever? "Will you start by telling me about your dream? I would really like to know, Booth."

His smile faded instantly. Using his free arm to push himself up to sit on the couch, he tugged gently at her hand in his other one. "C'mere, Bones. We may as well be comfortable."

She followed him up onto the couch, not sitting particularly close to him, but he kept their hands linked between them. He needed the physical connection, but he also needed to make sure she was okay with it. "Is this all right?"

She didn't answer, but her relaxed hand in his was answer enough. She was more focused on dragging the story out of him. "You did say that I was in charge, Booth. So will you please tell me about your dream?"

He hesitated. He was all for total honesty at this point, but that was pushing it. "Why is that so important, Bones?"

It was her turn to hesitate. It wasn't something that she could even put into words, but seeing him so terrified had been frightening for her. Booth always seemed to be strong, confident, and in control. They were qualities which she could normally claim as well, but at some point she had come to depend on Booth to _always_ exhibit them. The fact that something could frighten him so badly was a disturbing one to her. She needed to know what had caused it. "I don't know," she answered honestly, because she truly couldn't have explained it. "If you'd prefer not to talk about it..."

His decision was made. He could see that it was important to her. _Why_ didn't matter so much. If this was what she needed to ease into the rest of their conversation, he wouldn't deny her. His jaw worked as he stared at their linked hands between them, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

"It was about you."

She had known that, but the way he said it still sent a shiver up her spine. She had never heard his voice hold such an edge to it. Despite the discomfort she had felt moments before when she realized that Booth was sexually aroused, she still found herself inching closer to him now, wanting to comfort him. "What about me?"

He looked up at her, and his eyes were full of so much pain it made her gasp. When he leaned back against the arm of the couch and opened his arms to her, she went willingly, much to his relief. He needed her close - especially now that the initial overwhelming rush of emotion and terror had released its grip on him and he had control of himself - and he also needed to not have to look at her as he told her about killing her in his nightmare. One of his feet was flat down on the floor, the other stretched out straight on the seat against the back of the couch. She scooted over, and he was certain this was probably another first for her: cuddling. She was slightly awkward as she leaned into him, and he dropped a reassuring kiss on the top of her head when she finally settled in with her head tucked beneath his chin, her cheek pressing into his chest. "You okay, Bones?"

"Mmm," was the only answer she gave as he tentatively let his arms hold her against him, and again it made him smile. Cuddly Bones was almost surreal to him. He was feeling more reassured of the fact that she loved him every single time she did something like that - things that just didn't fit in with his mental picture of Temperance 'Bones' Brennan, but which he could get very damn used to. He didn't take it for granted: he knew what a gift he was receiving. Just knowing that he was probably the only man to ever know her like _this_ made him feel 10 feet tall. It made him feel like no matter how long the road was to clear up all of the obstacles between them, at the end of it the two of them were going to have something so special that it was freaking indescribable. And even though he was a guy through and through, he could honestly say that sex was the farthest thing from his mind when he had that thought.

It hadn't escaped his notice that she wasn't acting scared of him - that she hadn't done so even when he grabbed her. The only time she seemed uncomfortable was during that extremely awkward, cringe-worthy moment on his lap. He was beginning to notice a pattern: she wasn't afraid _of_ him when she was worried _about_ him. It touched him and floored him at the same time, as he cautiously launched into the story.

"Do you remember just before we left the building - when I left you alone to back up Naji?"

She nodded into his chest. "Yes. I remember it clearly. A man almost shot you."

She was going to be the death of him. Her fingers tightened against his t-shirt when she mentioned him being in danger, and he felt her stiffen. She didn't mention it, but he knew that she had risked herself by leaving her hiding place to kill that man, to protect _him._ Even more telling was that she had basically told him she remembered that moment specifically because _he_ had been in danger. How had he ever not known that she returned his feelings? Why the hell had he waited so long? He couldn't help gathering her in a little closer to himself, setting up a slow rhythm with his hand as he absently ran it up and down her arm. "Yes. And then that other bastard grabbed you. Do you remember how it ended?"

"I know that you shot him, just as I began to collapse from the effects of the medication. Is that what your nightmare was about?"

It would be so easy to just say yes, but he couldn't lie to her. There were enough problems between them without starting out with a lie.

"Not exactly." If not for the warm weight of her in his arms, he wasn't sure he would have been able to say it. "It ends differently. I miss the shot."

She was suddenly tense against him, but he knew she still didn't understand. "And he cut my throat?"

Just hearing her say that made him flinch, and there was no way she could have missed it. "Jesus," he whispered. "No, Bones. Well yeah, but that's not the worst of it. When I say I missed the shot, I mean..." This was even more difficult than he had anticipated. Burying his face in her hair for strength, he just spit it out. "In my nightmare, you move just as I pull the trigger. I hit you instead."

"And I'm injured?"

He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to make her understand and move on to something different.

"I killed you."

That time she was the one to flinch, and he almost regretted saying it so bluntly.

When she started to pull away from his embrace, he did regret it. He let her go reluctantly but instantly, certain that she was already in the process of rebuilding her walls. Instead, she sat up just far enough to look at him intently, her hands gripping his arms for emphasis. "Was tonight the first time you've had that dream?"

He turned his haunted, exhausted eyes away from her, not wanting her to see how very messed up he was. "No. It was the second. I had the same dream last night."

He obviously wasn't doing a great job of keeping his problems from her, because worry was beginning to fill her eyes. "Have you had other nightmares, Booth? Is that the only one?"

"You know, you should really leave the interrogations to me, Bones. You're not very good at it." He attempted a weak smile, trying to push her off topic, but she saw through the misdirection.

"Answer my question, Booth. You've been having nightmares?"

"So have you," he deflected, realizing too late that his statement was an admission of his own nightmares.

"Are your other nightmares about me as well?"

He looked at her rather blankly for a moment or two. Was she kidding? His disbelief was clear in his voice when he finally answered. "What do you think, Bones? Of course they're about you."

Her hands dropped from his shoulders into her lap as her eyes followed a similar path, and he realized that this could actually lead rather well into something he desperately needed to tell her - something he had been aching to say to her ever since those horrible, messed up moments in Albania. Cautiously, he slowly brought one hand beneath her chin and tipped it up gently so she would meet his eyes. "Bones…Temperance. I never wanted to hurt you. Ever. I am so sorry about what happened over there. I'm so sorry for what I had to do to you."

She was instantly uncomfortable and he saw it, but this time he didn't back down so quickly. This conversation was _going_ to be uncomfortable, but it had to happen. They had to talk about it once and for all.

Despite his hand beneath her chin, she still averted her eyes. "Is that what you have nightmares about, Booth?"

Leaning slightly to follow the path her eyes had taken, he brought himself right back into her field of vision, making sure she looked at him before he gave her the boldest answer he had dared to give her yet. "Yes. Just like yours."

Her eyes widened slightly that he knew what her nightmares were about, and she looked slightly guilty - as though it was in some way her fault. "I know you have nightmares about what I did to you," he assured her. "I know that sometimes it's me hurting you, and sometimes it's not. I even know that you wake up calling my name."

"Angela." She stated, closing her eyes in brief embarrassment, but he wouldn't allow her to leave them closed.

"Look at me." When she did, he was more serious than she had ever seen him. "Yes, Angela told me, but she didn't have to. I hurt you, Bones. I scared you, and I made you think I was about to do something horrible to you - even if you didn't really know it was me at the time. Deep down, you _knew_ it was me. You've said so yourself. It's normal that you can't just forget that. I don't expect you to. But what I need you to understand is that I can't just forget it either. It hurt me too. I hated every second of it, Bones. I never wanted to overpower you or force you into anything. It scared the hell out of me when I realized what I was going to have to do. And I've never hated myself as much as I do every single time I see you scared of me because of it. Bones, I would _never..."_

"I _know._ " It was all getting to be too much, and she was getting overwhelmed. "You don't have to say these things, Booth. I know you did what you had to do."

"But I need to say it," he insisted, withdrawing his hand from her chin. They were now not touching in any way, although they still sat close together, facing each other, with his back against the arm of the couch and her sitting in front of him. "I need to tell you how sorry I am, and I need you to hear it from me that I would never push you into something you're not ready for. That's what I was trying to tell you in my office yesterday, but I was angry and it came out all wrong. I'm sorry for that, Bones. But I know now why you ran from me in that motel room. Regardless of what I said yesterday, you were right to run from me. You don't know how many times I've kicked myself for letting things go so far. What I should have told you that day is that I love you, and that I'll wait the rest of my life if that's what it takes for you to be comfortable - and I should have kept my hands off you. But I learned my lesson, Bones. When I told you you're in control, I meant it, in every way. You have free rein to touch me anytime you want, however you want. I'm yours. But I'm not doing anything that I don't know for a fact you're comfortable with. You have all the power, and no time limit. But I do have one condition: I'm not letting things go too far until I know for sure that you trust me again - no matter how long that takes - even if you think you're ready and you ask me to. Do you understand?"

"Yes. We're together, but you don't want us to have sex right now." She was so matter of fact that he knew it hid some deeper emotion, possibly even hurt.

He looked at her affectionately, and reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "Don't miss the point, Bones. Don't take that to mean I don't want you. I do, more than I've ever wanted anybody. This is not rejection. The point is that I love you more than I want you - enough to wait for you. You're enough for me: just _you_. Those things you found me reading in my office yesterday..."

"I overreacted, Booth." She looked somewhat sheepish.

"Maybe, but I think I understand why. That stuff I had written down about physical intimacy - I can't even imagine what you must have thought. It's for the future, Bones. I have no expectations right now. I just want to do anything I can to make things easier for you. When, or if, we get to where I can make love to you, that's the icing on the cake. I want that, so much. But I'm not giving up a lifetime with you for one night. Not tonight, not ever. You're worth more to me than that. Do you understand now?"

Her eyes told him that she did, even before she launched herself at him and grabbed him in a fierce hug. "I'm sorry, Booth. I'm sorry for running from you and not telling you the truth."

Wrapping his arms around her warmly, Booth thought he must have died and gone to heaven. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but he should have known that when Bones made up her mind to do something, she was all in. Having her so serious about a relationship with him was a dream come true. "I wasn't completely honest with you either, Bones, about a lot of things. But from here on out, I promise to be honest with you, if you'll be honest with me. If I do something that bothers you, please don't run from me. Just tell me. We can get through this, but we can't hide from each other. If we try to hide things, then this could rip us apart."

She pulled back and looked at him, and he almost lost his breath again. Seeing unhidden love for him in her eyes was something he hoped he never got used to. She leaned in and kissed him again, sliding her lips against his in a tender caress. He returned her kiss exactly as she gave it, no less and no more, not letting it become any more heated. After a few moments, he was the one to pull back. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he had a feeling that she had enough to process for one night. "We need to get some sleep, Bones. We've both got work tomorrow. Maybe we can have lunch and talk some more then?"

She nodded, but made no move to leave. After several long moments, he thought he might know what she was looking for.

Leaning back farther into the arm of the couch, he held his arms out to her in invitation as he let his head loll against the back of the couch. She was cuddled up against him rather quickly, although her voice sounded doubtful. "We're going to sleep sitting up on my couch?"

His chuckle was deep, reverberating through his chest and right into her ear. "I've definitely slept in worse places, Bones. I think I'll survive."

She was already yawning. "But your back, Booth. You won't be able to move tomorrow. If you're reluctant to sleep alone, we could both sleep in my bed. There's plenty of room."

The level of trust in that request floored him, but the little bit of tension he felt run through her only re-emphasized his knowledge that it was still a bad idea, nevertheless. No way was she ready for that. Truth be told, he wasn't ready to go near a bed with her, even just to sleep. The idea almost made him break out in a cold sweat. She'd never admit it, but he knew she was also uncomfortable with the idea almost before it was out of her mouth. He put a light teasing tone into his voice to try to reassure her. "Reluctant to sleep alone? Are you calling me a big baby, Bones?"

She was still tense, although slightly less so. When she spoke, this time it was very tentative. "Far from it, Booth. I just thought that our proximity might ease your nightmares. Did I overstep the bounds of our agreement?"

The tightrope walk was far from over, as he was beginning to find out. How could he reassure her without making her feel rejected? Let her know he wanted her without scaring her? He tried to keep the light tone as he took a gamble and gave her the first answer that sprang to mind, but he also wanted her to know he was serious. "As much as I'd love to have you for my teddy bear, Bones, that's not a good idea. I'm a man in love, not a saint. So it's here or nowhere - take it or leave it."

She relaxed against him again, and he knew he'd said the right thing.

… ooo … ooo

At some point in the very early morning, Booth awoke to find himself stretched out fully on Brennan's couch, covered warmly in a soft blanket. He was instantly aware of several sensations, including his now prone position, the very warm blanket, and an even warmer hand which was nestled snugly in his own. But perhaps the sensation that he found most noticeable was the fact that his arms were empty, when they had most certainly been wonderfully full when he went to sleep. That realization caused him to jolt upward, his eyes flying open in a moment of sudden alarm before he remembered the warm hand he held. As he brought his thudding heart back under control, his eyes went to that hand, following it from his own down the long, creamy arm it was attached to, all the way to where it met a soft shoulder partially covered by a curtain of auburn hair.

The sight before his eyes simultaneously calmed him, touched him, and made him feel unbelievably guilty. Brennan lay stretched out on the floor in front of the couch, sound asleep in a sleeping bag, one arm stretched up to where her hand rested in his.

"Oh, Bones..."

He couldn't stop the whispered words. At some point, she must have moved out of his embrace, laid him down and covered him up. He knew he had been exhausted, but he must have been sleeping more deeply than he had realized if he had let her get away with all of that. What gave her an even tighter grip around his heart than the vise-tight grip she already held it in was the fact that she had chosen to sleep on the floor rather than leave him alone and go back to her bed. He should have been the one watching over her, but she was clearly trying to watch over him in case he had more nightmares. The wave of complete love that surged through him at that moment would have been enough to knock him over if he had been on his feet, nearly bringing tears to his eyes.

She was sound asleep still, and it was a good thing; because had she been awake, he would have surely been on his knees in front of her in a heartbeat proposing marriage or something else equally ill advised that would have her jumping through the window and climbing down the fire escape. Wondering which one of them had initiated the hand-holding - not that he was complaining either way - he softly brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss there. The movement must have roused her, because just a moment later he was aware of her studying him from her place on the floor.

Rolling up onto his side, he propped himself up on his free elbow and rested his head in his hand so that he could look down at her. "Hey, Bones." His voice was low, intimate.

"Are you all right, Booth?" She was going to have to stop with the concern, because he was going to have a difficult time being a rough, tough FBI agent if his partner kept turning him into a big puddle of mush every time she opened her mouth.

Giving her hand a squeeze, he put on his best serious expression. "No."

That brought her up on her free elbow. "No? What's wrong? Did you have another nightmare?"

"This - me up here on the couch and you on the floor. That doesn't work for me, Bones. Swap with me."

"Oh." She let the elbow go out from under her, flopping back down on her pillow. "No."

"Not up for debate, Bones. I'm a gentleman. I'm not letting my...I'm not letting you sleep on the floor while I'm on a nice soft couch. Now swap with me."

Her eyes were narrowed at him, just a hint of amusement in their depths. "I'm sorry if it offends your alpha-male sensibilities, Booth, but I'm comfortable and I'm not moving. What were you going to call me?"

 _'Shit.'_

"Nothing. Come on, Bones, let's go. Give me that sleeping bag, and you take the couch."

"You said you weren't letting 'your'...and then you stopped. Your what?"

He was glad for the darkness in the room. It hid the blush. It wasn't that he was shy about calling her his...well, his everything; he just wasn't so sure how she would react. Trying to throw her off by charming her instead of scaring her with how serious he was, he threw her his most devastating smile and tried a term that he knew would provoke a reaction. "You know - my girl."

The teasing tone and diversionary tactics must have done the trick. Her eyebrow arched up in utter distaste, but it was tempered with amusement so he knew he was safe. "The word 'girl' implies an immature female. I am neither a 'girl,' nor am I your property, Booth."

Winking down at her, his smile only grew. "Oh, you're my girl now, Bones. Don't you doubt it for a second. Which is why if you don't get up and swap with me right now, I'm picking you up, sleeping bag and all, and dropping you on this couch. Your choice."

"No, you won't." The complete certainty of her voice coupled with her suddenly sly look gave him the feeling that he was about to be outmaneuvered.

"What makes you say that?" he asked suspiciously.

She was back up on an elbow, looking at him triumphantly - but there was just a hint of something else in her eyes, and it made his breath hitch in the quiet, early morning stillness that only seemed to amplify the way her voice slid over him. "Because I'm in charge now, Booth."

And there had to be something wrong with him, because all of the air suddenly went missing from the room and a shiver ran down his spine at the low, throaty way she said it.

There was some definite truth to all that alpha-male stuff she liked to spout about him, and he knew it. For starters, he _did_ like to be in charge - in his job, his personal life, and most certainly in his bedroom as well. That was just the way things were. And on the topic of being in charge, he had been doing an admirably fine job of being in charge of _himself_ , mostly managing to studiously ignore the fact that the absolutely amazing woman he loved (and who had finally admitted she loved him back) was lying there just a couple feet below him in that ridiculously sexy tanktop that peeked out of her sleeping bag and gave just a hint of cleavage, her hair tousled in a way that just made him want to tousle it more. He had to ignore it, for both of their own good - he knew he wouldn't do anything to push her boundaries, so there was no sense in torturing himself.

But damn if she hadn't just put all sorts of images that he didn't particularly need right then into his head, throwing bedroom eyes at him and practically purring words that any woman had to know would instantly make a guy think of a thousand ways she could be _very_ in control of him - ways that she would be more than welcome to try on him with his own damn handcuffs if she wanted. Suddenly, being the one in charge seemed very low on the scale of his priorities as his mind made an unplanned detour straight into the gutter. And there was _no freaking way_ that she hadn't done it on purpose...was there? Flirtatious, seductive Bones was one he hadn't yet become intimately acquainted with - although he really, really wanted to - so he didn't trust himself to read her cues.

Maybe she was flirting with him and maybe not. But he had no choice but to ignore the way her sultry words had gone straight to his groin and caused a familiar tightening, and instead just take her words at face value. With a loud groan of mock irritation, he quickly let go of her hand, fell back onto his back and laid his arm over his eyes. "You're going to make me regret giving you control, aren't you?" She already was, but maybe not the way she thought.

He wasn't looking at her to see the twinkle in her eyes as she threw his own words back at him, but he didn't have to be: he could hear it in her voice. Much to his relief, the conversation veered back on topic with her teasing tone, and it seemed they were once again only talking about her being in charge as it pertained to her sleeping on the floor while he slept on the couch. She had either decided to let him off the hook, or he had imagined the whole thing. "Don't you doubt it for a second."

Indulgently, he rolled back onto his side so he could look at her, an expression of exaggerated consternation on his face that did nothing to hide the affection he felt. "I've created a monster."

"I don't know what that means." Her look was almost too innocent.

Nope, he wasn't falling for it this time. "Oh, I think you do." Smiling down at her, he gave in. "Fine, Bones. You win - but just for tonight. I'm not making this a habit. If somebody's going to sleep on the floor from now on, it's going to be me."

"I already told you we could both sleep in my bed."

Just when he thought he was safe, _this_ again...he had felt her discomfort earlier when she said it. Why was she bringing it up again? He couldn't read her expression, and the mood in the room had changed again, definitely for the more tense. Was she testing him? Did she want to make sure he wasn't going to go overboard with her at the slightest provocation, like he had done in that godforsaken motel room? His senses went on the alert, his gut screaming at him to tread carefully - and very, very honestly. He had thought this issue was settled.

What was going through that mind of hers? There was _definitely_ a hint of...something. Something different that made him feel he'd missed something important while he'd been asleep. If he had to describe it in one word, the first one popping to mind was that she looked vaguely _guilty_ about something.

But what the hell would she have to feel guilty about?

"And I already told you that I'm being careful and why," he answered, pushing his other concerns to the back of his mind. "I'm not going to budge on this one. We'll share a bed one day, but this isn't the time. In the meantime, it's like I told you...I'm not a saint. I'm not going to cross that line right now either way, but that doesn't change the fact that you're the most gorgeous woman in the world to me and I'm in love with you." Sensing that the conversation was getting a little too intense for the middle of the night in her apartment alone with her, he lightened his tone and added a small smile. "So give a guy a break, Bones. I've gotta avoid as much temptation as I can. Help me out here, huh?"

He was almost holding his breath to see how she would react, hoping he had achieved the right balance of expressing desire without making her uncomfortable.

Whatever discomfort had been in her eyes a few moments before, it was gone, replaced by a tiny smirk. "You seem to have an unhealthy preoccupation with the topic of saints lately, Booth. It's not the first time you've mentioned them."

He smirked right back at her, glad the moment had passed. "Go back to sleep, Bones. You sure you don't want to swap places?"

"Goodnight, Booth."

"I love you, Bones." The teasing tone was gone, and he was dead serious. He hadn't even thought about it; it just seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

There was a long pause that made his heart beat faster with each long second that ticked by, followed by words that put his senses on alert again... "I know. Goodnight, Booth."

There it was again. He may not have a handle on flirty Bones, but he certainly _knew_ what Bones sounded like when she felt guilty about something _._ It just didn't make sense.

It was a long time before he fell back asleep, this time without even the benefit of her hand in his. He was still bothered by the fact that something might not be exactly right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

When Booth next awoke, it was to the sound of an alarm clock right behind his head that almost made him jump out of his skin. At least he was instantly awake, although that would have happened anyway when he realized that he was still in Bones' living room, but she was nowhere in sight. The sleeping bag had disappeared, and he was sure he would probably be able to find it neatly stored in a closet somewhere if he wanted to look for it. She must have brought in the alarm and set it for him so he wouldn't be late for work, but the thoughtfulness in that act did little to comfort him, considering that the clock's presence gave him the distinctly unhappy feeling that it meant she was already gone.

"Bones?" Swinging his feet over the side of the couch, he made his way cautiously down her hall. It wouldn't do at all to go barging into her bedroom if she was half-dressed - or worse. "You here, Bones?"

When he reached her door, he could see it was open and the room dark. Poking his head in, he saw that the bed was neatly made and there was no trace of her. The bathroom was also empty.

It wasn't as though she had any way of knowing it, but she had definitely managed to tap into one of his deepest darkest fears. From the day he had realized he was in love with her, the thought of spending an amazing night with her only to wake up and find her gone without a single word had been something that kept him firmly on his side of the line.

The night before had been amazing in a slightly different way than he had envisioned this particular nightmare, but it certainly still qualified. He had his cell phone in his hand in a flash, dialing her number, but it went straight to voice mail. The uneasiness was quickly growing, quickly surpassing the level where it could be called uneasiness and crossing the threshold of fear. He had known something was bothering her right before they went to sleep the last time, and he should have followed his gut instinct and pinned her down about what it was. "Come on, Bones, _answer,"_ he commanded the phone.

He located his keys and shoes and made for the door, not even thinking about the fact that he was still in his clothes from last night and that he desperately needed a shower. She must have panicked by the light of day, and he just wanted to get to the Jeffersonian and find out what was going on with her. He was brought up short, however, by the sight of the piece of paper taped to the inside of her front door, barely catching his notice as he reached for the door to jerk it open and leave. Anxiously, he yanked the paper off the door and quickly read its contents.

 _"Booth,_

 _I didn't want to wake you. I should be available for lunch at approximately 1:00._

 _-Bones."_

His heartrate calmed and he wasn't quite so worried that she had freaked out on him anymore, but he wasn't entirely sure what to make of her note either. On the one hand, she still obviously planned to meet him for lunch. That was reassuring, as was the fact that she had signed the note 'Bones.'

Usually, that alone would have made his day.

On the other hand, she hadn't exactly explained her hasty exit; and maybe it made him a girl, but he was a little bothered by the lack of anything...personal. Okay, yes, it was Bones…drawings of hearts and flowers and doodling her name with his last name tacked on the end might be a little much to hope for, _ever._ But he would have felt better if there had been an 'I love you' or a 'You're quite symmetrical' or even an 'I'm looking forward to lunch.'

Still, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She herself would be the first to admit she was uncomfortable with the intricacies of relationships. He had found her awkward approach to cuddling the night before very endearing; something like taking time to write endearments in a note probably never crossed her mind, and she would probably think it was silly. It _was_ silly. He was overreacting. She had said she loved him, and she had shown him she loved him. What more could he ask for?

Taking her note with him, he left to go home and take a shower so he could get ready for work. He had a lunch date with an amazing woman that loved him, even if her approach to writing love notes completely sucked. The thought made him chuckle a little to himself as he dug in his pocket for his lucky poker chip, giving it a little flip in the air as he made his way out of her building.

ooo … ooo … ooo

When he reached the office, Booth dug into what deskwork he had to complete, responding to messages and e-mails and all of the other tasks that he had fallen behind on of late. He was actually feeling quite cheerful by about 10:00 A.M., as thoughts about the way Brennan had looked at him and told him she loved him the night before kept popping into his mind. Random, occasional thoughts of her soft, adoring kisses had him feeling downright cocky by about 11:00 when his phone rang.

The display informed him that the call he was getting came from the phone in Brennan's office, and a broad smile lit his face at the thought that she was calling him early - and that he no longer had to restrain the urge to flirt with her. Physical contact was a minefield at that point; but he could definitely remind them both that their relationship had changed by turning on the charm and flirting shamelessly with her every chance he got. And he intended to do exactly that. It might be fun to see if he could make her blush. It'd be even more fun if she turned it around on him and made _him_ blush.

He couldn't stop the smile as he picked up the receiver. Remembering her reaction to him calling her his 'girl' the night before, he couldn't resist the urge to tease her a little bit.

"Hey there, Gorgeous. Couldn't make it to lunch without hearing my voice?" Oh, she was going to kill him, and he was so going to love it.

"Hi there yourself, stud-muffin." His smile faded instantly...Angela. "So I take it things went well last night?"

"Angela!" He cleared his throat, more than a little embarrassed. "Um, where's Bones?" A horrible thought hit him - "Is she okay?"

"Relax, FBI. She asked me to call you. She forgot her cell in her car, and she's neck deep in some special project the Egyptology department needed her help on. You know how she loves her mummies. She couldn't get away, but she asked me to call you and let you know she has to cancel lunch."

"Oh." He felt all of his good humor fading away instantly, being replaced by that cold finger of worry he was becoming so accustomed to. "Well thanks, Ange."

His crestfallen look must have transmitted right through the phone lines, because Angela saw right through him. "Don't worry, Booth, it's not what you think. This is legit. They asked her yesterday and she came in early to start, but they ran into some problems."

He felt a little better, but only slightly. Why had Angela known she was going in early and he hadn't? And would it have been so hard to write it in her note? "Who said I was worried? Just tell her I'll come pick her up for our appointment with Sweets. I'll be there about 3:30."

"No can do, G-man. I'm calling Sweets next. She's canceling the appointment. This is going to be an all-day thing."

Frustration washed over him, one hand going up to rub at his forehead. "Fine. See you later, Angela."

"Thought you weren't worried?" Her amused voice cut him off before he could hang up.

"I'm not," he shot back, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Riiiight," she shot right back at him sarcastically. "That's why you're so busy trying to get rid of me before you get to hear the rest of her message."

He paused. She had him and she knew it. "Sorry. It's just been a long week. What else did she say?"

"You know, if you need to go, Booth, it's okay. I don't have to tell you." She was teasing him, her tone light, and he knew it couldn't be too bad.

"I'm armed, Angela," he said wryly.

"You're no fun, Booth. She said to tell you she'll call you about dinner as soon as she gets a chance."

For the second time that day, he felt foolish for overreacting so badly. Even Angela said that the work situation was legitimate. If he kept this up, _he_ would be the one to freak out and destroy them. "Oh. Okay. Thanks."

"So…you're calling her 'Gorgeous' and she talks about dinner with you like it's a foregone conclusion...anything you want to tell me, Booth?"

"Nope, not a thing. Bye, Angela."

"Oh, come on, Booth! That's not..." _Click_

"Fair," she finished to the empty line.

… ooo … ooo …

With the knowledge that she planned to have dinner with him - something that made him very, very happy, because he had never even mentioned dinner - Booth turned back to his work, only occasionally checking his phone to make sure she hadn't called.

Several hours later, he finally decided to try to call her again, but wasn't surprised when she didn't answer. Angela had already told him that Brennan didn't have her cell phone on her, and she was obviously not inside her office.

It wasn't, in fact, until about 7:00 that he started to get a little stir crazy. He had ordered in some lunch for himself, but that had been hours ago and he was starting to get more than a little hungry. Checking his phone one more time, he decided to go home and wait for her to call him there. Inspiration struck, and he decided that it might be nice to make dinner for her at his apartment while he waited, and just invite her there - a real date. After wrestling with himself for only a minute or two about whether or not that was a good idea and whether or not she might think he was trying to get her into bed by setting them up to be alone at his place, he decided that it would be okay. He was the one who would set the tone for that, and he would make it clear that it was just dinner...and maybe a movie on his couch...with her snuggled up against him again. Yeah. He could live with that.

By 8:30, when the spaghetti sauce was happily bubbling on his stove - the only spaghetti he had _ever_ made in his life that wouldn't include a rather large helping of meat in the sauce - he tried to call her again, still receiving no answer. He briefly considered trying Angela, but dismissed that thought rather quickly. What was he, in high school?

Finally, his phone beeped at him, and he grabbed for it, the smile on his face fading as he read the incoming text message.

 _'Still at work - I'll call you tomorrow.'_

It took a few seconds for it to completely sink in. Three times he had had 'plans' with her that day, and three times she had managed to duck them - all without ever having to exchange actual conversation with him. The last time they had spoken other than through notes, Angela, or text message was early that morning when he told her again that he loved her and she told him that she...knew. Said it with that infuriatingly impossible to understand tone of _guilt_ in her voice. He hadn't talked to or seen her all day, and the end of the message was pretty clear: she certainly wasn't expecting him to spend the night at her apartment again. The word 'tomorrow' in that text was pretty painfully clear.

His thumbs played over the keypad on his phone a few times. Obviously she had her phone on her again - which probably meant she was now in her car where she had left the phone to start with, which probably meant she was lying through her teeth about still being at work. Either way, it meant she had her phone: he could call her. But if she wanted to talk to him, she would have called him. Next, he found himself typing out various text messages, each one immediately deleted after being branded too needy, too sarcastic, or too something. Finally, he gave up and closed the phone. Her message was pretty final: it didn't really require a response anyway.

What in the world was going on with her? Gritting his teeth, he decided to just eat his stupid meatless spaghetti and go to bed. If she was on the brink of panicking, following his instinct and pushing her might be the worst thing he could do. She wanted space? Fine. He'd give her plenty of it, and just hope it would make her come to _him._ But he didn't have to like it.

Ooo … ooo … ooo

The United States taxpayers were not getting their money's worth out of one Seeley Booth the next morning.

He was distracted, snappy, and generally unpleasant to be around. He almost took Sweets' head off when he popped by to check on him under the pretense of rescheduling their appointment with him for that afternoon, causing the young psychologist's eyebrow to arch in a way that almost certainly meant their session that day was going to be even more interesting than it already would have been. Booth looked like he was ready to pull his gun when Sweets told him that Brennan had already agreed to the rescheduling, and 'oh-by-the-way she said she'd meet you there.' Sweets wisely didn't say a word as he turned to go, knowing they had a command performance with him anyway.

At 11:00, same time as the day before, his phone rang. This time it was her cell phone calling him, and he let it ring a couple times in surprise. He knew very well that it couldn't be work related - he knew it for a fact, because if there had been even one work-related thing going on that he could have already called _her_ about, he would have already done so. What was she having Angela call and cancel now? Their whole damn relationship? Their partnership?

"Booth." Better safe than sorry, this time.

"Are you hungry?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. She sounded...normal. "Yeah, I guess so. Why?" He sounded overly cautious and maybe a little too brisk, but then he didn't really feel like rushing in to ask her to lunch only to get shot down again, either.

This time she sounded less normal and more hesitant, and he knew she had picked up on his tone. "I - would you still like to have lunch? I couldn't get away yesterday, but I can today if you can go now."

The two seconds he sat thinking in silent surprise allowed his eyes to wander down to his calendar to confirm what he already knew. _'Damnit.'_ He had a meeting with Cullen in 30 minutes, and there was probably no getting out of it. That realization led to a few more silent seconds as he tried to figure out _how_ to get out of it, and it was long enough for her to get nervous.

"Booth?" This time she sounded even more hesitant, and he finally answered.

"No, I'm here, Bones. Listen, I'd love to, but I can't. I've got a meeting. Maybe..."

"I understand," she cut him off, talking quickly. "I'll see you this afternoon at our appointment with Dr. Sweets."

"Bones, wait..." But it was too late. With a groan, he leaned back into his chair. They were bouncing off of each other and making things worse by the minute, and for once he didn't know how to stop it. He didn't remember dating being this difficult.

ooo … ooo … ooo

He was waiting outside Sweets' office 15 minutes early, hoping to get to talk to her before their session. That time passed without her showing. Appointment time came, and he had sat staring at Sweets and dodging questions about their 'changed relationship,' and how he was 'coping', and how there might be some issues he needed to 'face', for 10 minutes before he finally realized she wasn't going to show up. Sure enough, Sweets' phone rang just a minute later and he answered.

Booth sat very still, grinding his teeth as he listened to Sweets' end of the call. "Dr. Sweets. Yes. Okay. Thank you for calling, Dr. Brennan. Monday? I do need to speak with you both together as soon as possible, so if we're unable to meet on Monday I may have to temporarily suspend your field privileges. Yes, that will be fine."

Booth was out of his seat almost before Sweets hung up. He had had enough.

"Monday, 4:00!" Sweets called after him.

ooo … ooo … ooo

A very, very short time later, Booth was stomping into bone storage after first storming past the platform and into her empty office. She was alone, bent over a skeleton laid out on a cold, steel table, and she looked up in surprise as she saw him coming in.

He stopped across the table from her, not even caring about whether or not she was going to yell at him when he rested his fingertips on the table as he leaned slightly across it to look her square in the eye. "All right, Bones, spill it. Because this thing where you avoid me and don't talk to me? That's over. I'm not leaving here until you tell me what's going on."

Blue eyes met scared brown, and the first thing he noticed was that hers were without guile - instead, they were filled with confusion. "Nothing's going on, Booth. What are you talking about?"

The honest confusion in her face gave him pause, but he had worked up a good head of steam and he wasn't letting it go so easily. "You know what I'm talking about, Bones. You've been avoiding me ever since the other night in your apartment. I'm not even going to pretend to know why. I just want you to tell me."

She was beginning to look angry. "I'm not avoiding you, Booth. In fact, I invited you to lunch today to make up for yesterday. You're the one who was angry and no longer wished to go."

"I had a _meeting_ , Bones!" he spluttered. "You hung up on me before I could even ask you to dinner!"

"And I had _work_ yesterday, Booth. I've barely been at work in over a week, and I have responsibilities. I didn't cancel lunch to avoid you."

"And dinner?" They were both leaning so far across the table now that they were almost nose to nose. "I cooked dinner for you, Bones, after you said you wanted to have dinner with me. You text messaged me from _your_ phone that Angela said you left in _your_ car, so we both know you weren't at work when I was eating bland, no-meat spaghetti all by myself. If you didn't want to have dinner with me, that's fine Bones, but I don't appreciate being lied to."

She pushed away from him so fast that it almost made him dizzy, stepping back away from the table and crossing her arms with utter fury on her face. "I was exhausted, Booth. I went to my car and then decided I was too tired to drive home. I called you from there and then spent the night in my office."

He should really, really let it go and apologize. He knew it, but he had slipped into interrogation mode and he was determined to ferret out all of the answers, damn the consequences. "And Sweets? Two times you've canceled our appointments with him."

The anger had seeped out of her voice, and now she just sounded calm and controlled - a combination that immediately set his skin crawling, especially when he could see the walls snapping back up into place.

"Because we were unable to have lunch together before our sessions with him, I thought it best to cancel the appointments until we could discuss what to tell him about our new relationship and how it affects our partnership. I assumed you would wish to do the same, unless you no longer care if the Bureau dissolves our partnership."

It hit him like a truck: he had really screwed up this time. What was wrong with him? He knew what he sounded like, and it was not his typical approach to relationships. He could be alpha-male, yes: possessive, territorial, protective.

But he had never been a controlling jerk before. Why was he reacting like this?

If he had had a hat, it would have literally been in his hands at that point. Did he have the number of a good florist? Maybe a candy maker?

"Bones, listen, I'm sorry. This is all just a big misunderstanding." He tried to move around the table toward her, and she took a step back and lifted a hand in warning, freezing him in place.

ooo … ooo … ooo

She was too tired for this. After the day before, standing on her feet all day so soon after all that she had been through, every muscle in her body was sore. It was true when she told Booth she had been too tired to drive home the night before - she had almost been too tired to walk back into the Jeffersonian, and had briefly considered sleeping in her car. If she had called him, he would have heard it in her voice, so she had sent him the text message instead so he wouldn't worry. She would have liked to hear his voice, and she would have liked even more to go to his apartment and sit with him on his couch the way they had sat on hers the night before; but she knew that he would insist on her staying and taking his bed, leaving him on the couch, and he needed his sleep too.

Without his reassuring presence, the night that followed on her office couch had been a restless one, filled with nightmares that had woken her up screaming more than once - more than one of them involving Booth as her attacker. She had spent a nightmare-free night the night before, and she was beginning to be fairly certain that the difference was Booth's proximity. She had still been pondering that when she got up early in the morning and went home briefly to shower and then return to work, in almost mechanical fashion, wondering if it would be outside the boundaries he had set up for them if she asked him to stay with her again that night. The night in her apartment with him seemed very long ago, and she had found herself wishing to hear his voice.

The last thing she had expected was for him to be short with her when she called. It had taken her completely aback, causing a seed of self-doubt to begin germinating within her. No one had to tell her that she was not exactly an expert in nurturing a relationship. Had she already messed things up that quickly? That long silence after she invited him to lunch before he ultimately turned her down had made her want to end the call as quickly as possible, stinging with rejection. But she had pushed it from her mind, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe his meeting with Cullen was going to be an unpleasant one.

But then suddenly he was there, in bone storage, obviously angry with her, just as she was ready to drop from exhaustion yet again. This was exactly why she had been hesitant to change the status of their relationship - the nuances of this type of relationship escaped her. He was furious with her, and she didn't have a clue why.

The primary difference that she could easily grasp between their prior relationship and a romantic one was physical contact, which Booth had arbitrarily excluded from their new arrangement. So until that was a possibility, why were they doing this? Why was she risking everything they already had together, on something that she knew was outside her abilities to maintain?

He was coming toward her, and she had to stop him. So she blurted out the first thing that went through her mind: a worry that had been nagging at the back of her mind ever since she admitted to herself she loved him, and which had now grown to monumental proportions in the light of her own growing self-doubt and lack of confidence in herself when it came to relationships.

"Maybe this is not a good idea, Booth."

His mouth fell slightly open, and he stared at her in clear shock. _"What?"_

It was out of her mouth now, and she heard herself talking rapidly in an effort to explain it. "Maybe this was a bad idea. You're angry and upset with me, over things that never mattered before, and I don't understand why. You said yourself that nothing is going to change right now in our relationship, so perhaps we should wait to redefine our relationship and to consider each other romantic partners until we have both recovered and a physical relationship is possible."

ooo … ooo … ooo

He couldn't believe his ears. One day, and she was _breaking up with him?_ His mind raced to follow her explanation, and when her meaning hit him he thought he would explode.

"I never said that ' _nothing'_ is going to change, Temperance! I said that we just weren't going to have sex right now, for _your_ sake - and for my sake, as well. There's a whole _hell_ of a lot of other things that already have changed, or do you remember another time that we've spent the night on your couch after you told me you loved me? _God,_ Bones, what do I have to do to get it through your thick skull that there's more to a relationship than just _sex?_ How can you even still look at it that way?"

Tears sprang instantly to her eyes, as she tried to explain what she didn't even understand herself. "That's not what I'm saying. I _do_ love you, Booth. I'm not suggesting otherwise now. All I'm saying is that I think it might not be the best time to start a new relationship if it is something we wish to maintain long-term. Perhaps after I've had time to recover and reestablish my sexual boundaries, we could revisit the issue."

He was becoming more confused - and scared - by the moment. "Your sexual boundaries? Bones, what the hell are you talking about? You _hate_ psychology. Where did you even get that from?"

She appeared defensive, and yet way more calm than he could really deal with when he felt ready to punch a wall. "I do consider it a soft science, but you appear to trust it, Booth, considering the literature I found you reading in your office. So I followed your example and did some research of my own online last night, in my office, when I couldn't sleep. I found it mostly unhelpful, but learned that it is apparently inadvisable to enter a new, committed relationship when suffering from trauma. I didn't want to believe that, Booth, but in light of the current conflict between us, I believe I have just arrived at a possible compromise. Perhaps if we took some time apart in order for me to become comfortable with sex again, we could then consider a new relationship without the problems that we now face."

Total, complete, matchless horror had filled his face, replaced moments later by an angry flash in his eyes as he strode right up until he was almost standing on top of her, ignoring her flinch for once. Become _comfortable with sex again?_ While they were _apart?_ She couldn't possibly mean...

All he could hear in his mind was what Sweets had said about some sexual assault victims becoming more intent on proving their sexual capabilities, to the point of promiscuity. Was she honestly suggesting that she 'reestablish her sexual boundaries' on _some other guy?_ And then they would be free to be together? Up until that point in his life, he only thought he had experienced jealousy and angry possessiveness. Now there was no question that he knew exactly what it felt like. The word "MINE" was pulsing through his entire being, and the urge to grab her was almost overwhelming.

"Let me make this plain right now," he hissed. "If you think for one _second_ that I'm going to sit back and let you experiment and test out your _sexual boundaries_ by parading _other men_ through your bed until you decide you're all better and you're ready for me, then you've lost your damn mind. It's not happening."

"Booth, I..."

He didn't even give her a chance to explain that that was not what she had meant at all.

"I don't want to hear it, Temperance!" He was so livid that he was almost vibrating. "If you try that, the only boundaries you'll be pushing are mine, because that's where I draw the goddamn line. You told me you love _me._ As long as that remains true, I'm the only guy you're going to be experimenting on. _Jesus,_ Bones, when you love somebody you don't take a time-out until all the problems go away! And you sure as hell don't try to fix them with somebody _else._ You work through them _together_!"

"I know that, Booth. Will you just listen to what I'm trying to say?"

He was angry, he was scared, he was hurt, and he was about to lose control - especially at the infuriating thought that she was honestly going to continue trying to plead the most asinine case he had ever heard. So he did the only thing he knew to do.

"You know what? No. Because if I stay here right now, I'm going to say something I'll regret. I'll listen to you when you come to your senses."

He was halfway out the door, and he couldn't even _look_ at her, but he couldn't leave without saying it. He was almost out of his mind with hurt, jealousy, and possessiveness mingled with anger, but not _completely_ out of his mind. He didn't want to finish them off, which is what could easily happen if he didn't say it.

Anger, however, still rippled through his voice. "This is not me abandoning you, Bones. So don't even go there. I just need to cool down."

"Booth!"

But this time he didn't stop.

ooo … ooo … ooo

For the rest of the day, Booth would probably have been much better off if he could have escaped his own company. He vacillated between complete chagrin at his own less than stellar behavior, and still-white-hot fury at the thought of what he believed she was suggesting. He couldn't decide what he would rather do: sheepishly knock on her door with flowers in hand and tail tucked firmly between his legs, or _break_ her damn door down and yell at her some more.

In the end, he did neither, instead deciding to stay home and change the topic of his internal debate to what he would rather _she_ do next: for her to knock on his door all tearful and contrite for ever even _considering_ letting any man but him into her bed _ever_ again, or for her to barge into his house and yell at _him_. He eventually decided that since she wasn't likely to come within 100 miles of him if she could help it, it was truly a moot point anyway.

He sat on his couch in his dark living room in front of his dark, blank TV, sipping the one beer he was going to allow himself to help take the edge off. He was obviously screwed up enough, if his earlier actions were any indication, and he knew that genes run strong. He didn't think he would fall into the trap of trying to drink the pain away with _just one more_ , but then who ever really _did_ think that at first?

He also hadn't thought he would ever act like one of those guys that always think their girl is cheating on them and spend half their time trying to bully them into submission, either, but what do ya know - he had done a good imitation of one earlier that day. And he _hated_ guys like that - ranked them right up there with wife beaters on his scum-of-the-earth list. It didn't make him feel any better that he knew exactly what he would have done if he'd ever walked in and heard any other man grilling Bones about her whereabouts and talking to her the way he had earlier: he'd have cleaned up the floor with the pompous son-of-a-bitch, right before making damn sure the controlling bastard knew he better never get near her again.

As he took another long pull of his beer, an even more unpleasant topic pushed to the forefront of his mind as he tried - and failed miserably - not to obsess over how soon Bones intended to enact her _plan_. Just the thought of it made his blood boil. If he hadn't already completely freaked himself out that he might be turning into some kind of goddamn stalker, he'd probably be staked out outside her apartment. It was probably just as well. If she brought some guy home and he was there to see it in his current condition, he'd probably kill the guy and be in jail for murder so fast his head would spin.

God, why was she doing this? How could she not know that no guy in the world could possibly be more careful with her than he would have been if she'd chosen to work through it with him? The first time and _every_ time. He would have treated her like a precious treasure when he eventually took her to his bed even if it wasn't for what happened in Albania; and how much more gentle would he have been _knowing_ what she had been through? How could she not know just how badly he wanted her to trust him again, and just how far he would go to make that happen? How was some one-night-stand safer than the man that would give his life to protect her without even blinking - and who would kill for her just as quickly.

And that was another problem with her plan. She had _no freaking idea_ what kind of position she was putting him in with this. She couldn't have. Because if, God help him, she tried this and some guy hurt her or scared her, then just...just God help them all: him, her, the other guy - _every-fucking-body._ He'd come more unhinged than he was already.

No, he was definitely stopping at one beer tonight - he was screwed up enough already without any help. Turning into an alcoholic wasn't going to do anybody any good, least of all himself. Two beers didn't an alcoholic make, but if he got another one he might not stop at two tonight, and then he probably wouldn't stop with just beer. He'd end up drinking hard at some bar, making some stupid drunk decision like showing her that two could play that _fucking crazy_ game she apparently wanted to play. And with his luck, just about the time he got good and sloppy drunk with some nameless blue-eyed, auburn-haired woman that vaguely resembled her, she'd show up. And after she kicked his ass to the curb permanently, he'd probably end up in Atlantic City throwing the _rest_ of his life away too.

Okay, so that was worst case scenario; best case scenario was that he'd end up drunk-dialing his partner and making even _more_ of an ass out of himself tonight. No, he was staying sober _and_ home tonight, and he was going to figure this thing out.

Where had things gone so wrong? Everything had been going so well - almost too well, but it was what he wanted, so he hadn't questioned it. The first inkling he had had of trouble was the last time he told her he loved her, when she had hesitated so long before responding that she _knew_ , without returning the sentiment. And that inexplicable _guilt_ he'd been picking up on her still bugged him. No, actually, scratch that - actually the first moment he'd known there might be trouble was moments before that, when she had reiterated her offer to share her bed with him, with that completely unreadable expression on her face.

What could have happened between the first time she responded that she loved him and the second time when she didn't? What had changed between their first discussion about sharing her bed and the second time she brought it up? And what had made her bring it up again at all - and why had it felt so much like a test?

The only thing he knew of that had occurred was that they had gone to sleep on her couch, and then he had woken up to find her on the floor instead...

Suddenly he sat straight up, the beer bottle frozen halfway to his lips.

 _'Oh._

 _My._

 _God.'_

Nothing that he could think of had happened...when he was awake. That only left when he was sleeping...

And he _couldn't_ have.

No. Fucking. Way.

Even he wasn't that much of an ass...was he?

Suddenly the only burning question that he needed an answer to immediately - like _yesterday -_ was very simple. It was so simple he wondered why he hadn't questioned it before: what exactly had made her decide to move out of his embrace and onto the floor?

He had been completely out - dead to the world - as evidenced by the fact that he had absolutely no memory of her getting up, moving him, covering him. If he couldn't remember any of that, maybe the question he needed to be asking was what _else_ did he not remember?

His eyes squeezed shut at the thought. He didn't know anything for sure, so he could very possibly be jumping to conclusions.

None of it would explain why _she_ was the one who looked guilty.

But if he had picked that particular night to start groping her in his sleep, it would sure as hell explain a lot. It would explain her moving out of his arms in the first place, her need afterward to test him on whether or not he really meant it about maintaining a distance, and her sudden reticence about repeating his 'I love you.'

The more he thought about it, even her disappearing act since then and her sudden baffling desire to bring less-pushy, less-selfish jerks than him into her bed would fit in with the theory, although he had to concede that at least part of that didn't make sense.

She had certainly not been lying about the reasons she had gone AWOL on him. No, he had seen it in her eyes. Everything she said about where she had been for two days had been legitimate, which actually didn't really help him, considering the way he had responded.

Could he have felt _more_ like a jerk when she told him she had been dropping from exhaustion, which he really should have seen coming? Yeah, actually, he could feel more like one, and in fact he had: right about the time he had been yelling at her for cancelling Sweets' appointments, only to find out that she had been doing it to protect their relationship. Not his finest moment, not by a long shot. Did they even still _have_ a relationship now to protect? Fuck. If he had done what he was starting to think he had, the answer was 'probably not.'

As much as the thought bothered him, he had to at least consider the possibility. He had a hard enough time remembering to keep his hands off of her when he was awake and fully aware of what he was doing, and it certainly wasn't as though he hadn't spent plenty of nights over the past couple of years fantasizing about her while his hands roamed all over himself. It wasn't such a stretch to believe that, completely unconscious and with his arms full of warm, willing, amazing-smelling _real_ Bones that loved him, his hands might have taken on a life of their own without his permission. And speaking of hands, he was also a lot more concerned now about who had initiated the handholding after she moved to the floor - because if the only reason she had been holding his hand was to keep track of it so he couldn't grope her any more with it, he was probably going to move to another country just out of sheer humiliation.

But how was he going to find out? It wasn't as though he could come right out and ask her, especially if he was wrong and nothing had happened. God, what would _that_ conversation be like? _'So Bones, remember the other night when you trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms - you know, that one wonderful night before I went all psycho-obsessed-stalker boyfriend on you and started trying to control you? Yeah, that's the one. So I was wondering...just exactly how many times did I grab your chest and your ass before you finally decided you don't love me after all? Not that I blame you... Oh, really? None at all? Oh, okay. Why do I ask? Oh, you know, no reason...really, it's nothing to worry about...you can trust me, honest...'_

No. That was definitely not happening. He would die first.

But one thing was certain: even if that wasn't what had happened, he had taken a huge risk of the playing-with-fire variety, and he was going to be even more stalwart in the future about keeping his hands to himself - that is, if she ever forgave him and he got another chance. He wouldn't even be taking any more _little_ chances with her. Any time they were together, he was going to be 100% awake, sober, and fully alert. He wasn't even going to yawn or take a sip of a freaking beer in her presence. Because even if what he was suspecting _hadn't_ happened, there was too much of a chance that it could. And the stakes were way too high. What had he been thinking, anyway, to even risk going to _sleep_ with her in his arms?

His thoughts inevitably turned toward the part of the conversation he most wanted to forget - her breaking up with him - and he soon realized that maybe getting drunk was a pretty damn good idea after all; mostly because he really, really didn't want to admit the fact that she had actually made a lot of sense, other than the part where she thought she should sleep around for a while.

Other than that, maybe the reason he was so pissed off was that he knew deep down she was right: it probably _wasn't_ the best time to be changing the status of their relationship. Hell, the 12-year-old had even told him that, in a roundabout way - that he just needed to be her partner and friend for a while, or whatever she wanted him to be. That was the key, and he knew it. He had been willing to accept that advice, just so long as what she wanted him to be was exactly what _he_ wanted to be. He apparently wasn't so generous with the control he had given her when what she wanted was something different. To put it bluntly, he had flipped out.

He cringed when he remembered the first part of what she said after blurting out that maybe they were making a mistake; she had said that she didn't understand why he was suddenly screaming at her for things that, in her words, 'never mattered before.' Well she had hit the nail on the head that time. So much for her being the one with no clue about relationships; he had just edged into first place on that one - and what a way to finally win one.

All she had done was be her normal workaholic self that he claimed to love, and he had lost it with her and even called her a liar. _Jesus._ He might as well have grabbed her by the hair, dragged her back to his cave and put her under lock and key while he was at it. So much for being a gentleman. The next time she insinuated that he was some type of neanderthal, he was keeping his mouth shut - wouldn't even have a leg to stand on. The only question left on that topic was why hadn't she kicked his ass to the moon and back?

Despite how very much he didn't want to think about it anymore, his mind continued against his will to replay their discussion.

His full weight fell back against the couch with a loud groan at his own stupidity when her words finally sank in a moment later and he realized what her motivation had been all along. It hadn't hit him in the heat of the moment what she had actually been _saying._

In between his ranting and raving, she had stood there and oh-so-calmly stated that if they wanted this to be _'long term,_ ' they needed to start it under better circumstances.

How had he missed that word?

It was an actual admission from her that she _wanted_ to be with him long term, and that she didn't want to screw this up by getting carried away.

It was freaking huge. And somehow that had flown right over his head - maybe because he hadn't shut up long enough to listen to her.

Those were actual, real words of commitment, coming from Temperance Brennan, about him - something he had barely dared to hope for in his wildest dreams. But what had he done, when she had been trying her best to hand him everything he had ever wanted on a damn silver platter, and trying to do it the _right_ way? He had yelled at her for it.

But really, what had she expected when she actually suggested _to him_ that she turn to another man in the meantime? The two statements didn't even remotely _go_ together, and surely even she couldn't be that clueless. Surely even she knew why that would send a guy into a jealous frenzy.

And then the _real_ epiphany hit him.

Maybe she _wasn't_ that clueless.

His blood ran cold as he realized that maybe he had misunderstood.

What had he done? Because if she hadn't meant what he had automatically assumed she meant - if she had just been trustingly asking him for some time to heal from what _he_ had fucking done to her - and he had treated her like that, yelling and screaming about where he drew the line and all but accusing her of being a whore, right before he _oh-dear-God_ walked out on her...

...then all the beer, poker, and one-night-stands in the world wouldn't be enough to help him forget what kind of man he had turned out to be and what he had thrown away in a fit of jealous rage.

Unable to sit still one minute longer, he jumped up and grabbed his keys.

He suddenly had a very clear picture of what he was becoming, and it scared the hell out of him. He had had his chance to fix everything, had given it his best shot, and had blown it all to hell.

He wasn't going to be able to fix _anything_ \- not one damn thing. What he needed was somebody to fix _him._ Because the only real conclusion he had come to all night was that something was very, very badly wrong with him and that he was going to destroy them both if he didn't stop trying to control her every move and get himself under control instead.

He was two steps from his door when the pounding on it started, and his heart jumped into his throat. He did _not_ need to see her right then - not until he figured out what the hell was wrong with him and why he was suddenly the type of guy he had spent the last four years warning her about.

Maybe if he was very, very quiet, she would go away. But the knocking only continued.

"Seeley! Are you in there?" The voice coming through his door wasn't the one he had expected, and for once it was a welcome relief. Rebecca.

He had completely forgotten. It was Friday night - the beginning of his weekend with Parker. Whatever it was he intended to do, it was now going to have to wait until at least Sunday afternoon when Parks went home. He might be screwed up, but his son was still his top priority. That much, at least, was reassuringly the same.

"Uh, just a minute!" Turning, he quickly disposed of the half-empty beer bottle, tucked his shirt back in and scrubbed his hands through his hair, trying to make himself at least presentable enough to open the door and not have his kid (or his kid's mother) think that he had turned into some kind of bum.

The feel of his little boy flying into his arms, holding onto him like all he wanted in the world was to be just like his dad, was the final bell on the wake-up alarm.

He had gone as far down the road to self-destruction as he was going. He was going to get his act together, one way or another. If it meant swallowing his pride and letting Sweets pick his brain until he was ready to pull his gun, then so be it.

The two most important people in his life both needed him, even if one didn't realize it at that moment, and that was reason enough.

He had sought help in the past, when gambling had taken over his life. And now he was going to do it again.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Decision making was not something that particularly intimidated Temperance Brennan, nor was it something that she usually considered to be especially difficult. It was a simple matter of analyzing all of the available data in a calm, rational manner and then making the most logical choice based upon the facts. There was a procedure to follow, just like anything else.

But as she stood watching Booth's retreating back, still feeling the sting of his angry words and her utter cluelessness at what had caused them, making a decision about whether or not to follow him proved impossible. Perhaps it was because there was nothing rational or logical about what had just happened.

First of all, Booth clearly had not believed her about why she had cancelled their lunch and therapy appointments, as well as why she had not called him about dinner the night before. Since when did he accuse her of lying? Since when did he speak to her that way, period? And for that matter, since when did Booth get upset about missing a session with Sweets?

As if that wasn't baffling enough, what happened next had left her almost completely speechless. Where did Booth get the impression that she intended to be unfaithful to him? One moment she had been suggesting that they wait to begin their relationship anew after she had time to completely recover from the symptoms she still experienced from Albania, and the next he was shouting about her sleeping with other men.

Within 48 hours of them deciding to be 'together,' he already thought she was not only a liar but a cheater as well? She had anticipated that she might have difficulty in keeping a relationship strong, but this seemed a bit extreme even compared to her own concerns. And being aware as she was of his strong feelings on the topic of infidelity, it was more than a little insulting that he could believe that of her.

It was that particular misconception that made her want to chase him down, grab his arm, and punch him like she had at his funeral. Only his words about needing to cool down stopped her from following him right out the door - not so much to allow _him_ to cool down. Booth's reasoning was sound on at least one point: if they had remained in the same room for even a moment longer, she might have said some things that she would later regret as well. Perhaps she should defer to his example on that one.

And so she made a decision by default, waiting so long to make a decision about whether or not to follow him that the decision was essentially made for her; by the time she realized she was staying right where she was, he was almost certainly gone.

Still, several more long moments passed before she forced herself to turn back to what she had been doing, her heart no longer in it. All she could think about was the angry look on his face and the harsh, hurtful words. She had no frame of reference for dealing with Booth behaving like that. It wasn't something she had ever seen before. What was causing him to treat her like that?

She did not get long to ponder that before she had company.

"Trouble in paradise?" Angela had just popped into view, a questioning look on her face. "What's wrong with Booth?"

Brennan carefully kept her eyes on the skeleton on the table, trying to appear calm. She did not want to discuss it with Angela until she figured it out for herself. "I'm quite certain that I don't know. Ange, I may need you to do a facial reconstruction for me in the morning. Do you see these markings on the mandible?"

"Yeah, sweetie. Fascinating. Booth?"

"You didn't even look. And as I indicated, I do not know what's wrong with Booth. I have work to do, Angela."

Angela had her arms crossed and her hip cocked, a sure sign that she wasn't letting it go that easily. "Bren, he just stormed out of here and almost killed Jack on his way out of the lab."

Brennan's eyes snapped up in concern. "Booth assaulted Dr. Hodgins?"

"What? No, I - bad choice of words. Almost ran over him in his haste to get out of here is more like it. Wrong place, wrong time kind of thing. Sweetie, what is going on? I've never seen Booth look quite like _that._ He was...scary. What did you say to him?"

Brennan shrugged one shoulder in an imitation of nonchalance, meant to cover her growing concern. She had never seen him act like that either. "Perhaps he was in a hurry," she murmured, keeping her eyes focused on the remains in front of her - remains that she no longer really saw.

Angela snorted. "Yeah, I'll say. He looked like his head was about to explode - that shade of red is not normal."

Brennan finally stopped, standing straight up and letting her head fall back with a sigh. The complete weight of her exhaustion was hitting her, and she couldn't deal with any more. "Angela, can we please not talk about this? We argued. Booth said he was leaving to go cool down. I'm sure I'll see him on Monday."

She would like to see him long before that, if she could figure out what she wanted to say. Now that her initial anger was fading, she was becoming more and more concerned for him. She didn't trust her own observations, but if even Angela was commenting that she had never seen Booth act that way, then perhaps there was cause for concern.

Angela digested that for a moment before her tone softened. "Okay. So what do you plan to do tonight then?"

All she really wanted to do was sleep. "After this one, I have at least one more reconstruction I need to start tonight. Then I'll go home."

Angela stared at her a moment, narrowing her eyes. "Why don't you just call him, Bren?"

After a moment, Brennan answered honestly. "No, I don't think so. I've come to the conclusion that Booth probably has Parker this weekend. And he did request time to cool down. I'm going to take the opportunity to catch up on work in the meantime."

Angela studied her closely, and then just shrugged. "Hm. All right. I'll see you later then."

Brennan was actually a little surprised when Angela turned and left her there alone. It seemed uncharacteristic for her to give in so easily.

What was wrong with everyone?

ooo … ooo … ooo

A few hours later, almost on the dot of 7:30, Angela marched back into bone storage with a couple of bags in her hand, unsurprised to find her friend still bent over a steel table looking ready to drop. She obviously wasn't going home either way, so Angela was going to find her something better to do than bury herself in work.

"Not taking no for an answer, Bren. You need to get outside the four walls of your apartment and this lab and forget about everything for a little while. So you and I are therefore going to take part in an antiquated ritual called 'girls night out.'"

She could see Brennan already beginning to form her argument, so she just kept talking over her. "You'll like it - it's a cultural thing. See, in the world of us humans, when one female has a fight with her boyfriend, it's up to her best friend to take her out and take her mind off things."

Brennan looked more than a little trapped. "Angela, I'm exhausted. I just need to go home and sleep."

Angela was undaunted. "Which you and I both know you're not going to do anyway. So if you're not going to sleep, I'm going to at least make sure you don't stay here working until your eyes cross, either. Here, put this on."

Angela knew it probably wasn't the most appropriate therapy, but one has to work with their own particular talents. This just happened to be hers.

Brennan peeked into the bag Angela was holding. "I have to wear a costume again?" She sounded almost whiny, and Angela rolled her eyes.

"Cute outfit, Bren. Cute outfit. Don't worry, I was nice - no miniskirts, no spike heels. You'll look like you, just ready for a night out - even down to the jewelry. I promise it's very you. We're going to a new club I found."

Brennan opened her mouth to protest even as she took the bag from Angela, but Angela didn't let her get a word in edgewise.

"Don't say a word - we are not going to pick up guys. _I'm_ not going to pick up guys. This is strictly a girls' night. We're going to drink a little, dance a little, and ignore any guy that hits on us. We'll keep each other out of trouble, go back to my apartment after just a couple of hours, and then you can spend the night with me instead of coming back here to stare at this table. Maybe you'll actually get some sleep that way. Now get dressed."

Twenty minutes later, Brennan looked much like she had the last time Angela had talked her in to going to a club - not that she remembered much of it, thanks to the cloud of drugs she had inhaled just before a body was found in the wall. Perhaps this would be a better experience. She had found the music to be quite stimulating, even before the chemical enhancement. And taking her mind off of Booth for a little while actually did not seem like such a bad idea. Her mind had reached a saturation point the last couple of hours in trying to figure out his behavior, and it was only serving to increase her exhaustion. She truly did need a break.

The deep red tank top Angela had brought her showed a bit of cleavage, but not enough to make her too uncomfortable, and the black pants were just tight enough to be appealing without being - Angela's word - trashy. True to Angela's promise, the jewelry even met with her approval, the slightly chunky necklace accentuating the scooped neck of her top nicely. Angela finished putting a little makeup on her, and this time she didn't even flash back to being prepared for auction in Albania, which made her feel somewhat optimistic about her progress. Maybe it was Angela's steady stream of chatter that kept her mind on the present.

"I don't want you to pass out the first drink we take, so we're stopping by the diner first. I called and ordered you a salad and some fries, because I'm sure you haven't eaten all day. We're going to have fun tonight, Bren. Whatever you guys fought about, if Booth needs time to cool down, then that's fine. But you don't have to mope here all weekend while he does it."

ooo … ooo … ooo

It didn't even take an hour. By 7:30, Parker had already pulled open the refrigerator door and reminded Booth that he hadn't even thought about going to the grocery store or doing anything else he normally did in preparation for one of Parker's visits.

"Dad! There's nothing in here to eat!"

Oh, crap.

"Yeah, well, Parker, you know..."

"Cool! Dad, look...the bread on this old hamburger is all green and the meat looks fuzzy!"

Booth deftly snatched the plate containing the offending piece of spoiled food out of Parker's hands, making a perfect toss into the trashcan. "Well, that's because your old dad is taking you out to eat, and then we're going to the store so you can pick out what you want for breakfast - anything you want. How's that sound?"

Parker's eyes lit up with excitement. "Can we go to the diner? I want a milkshake!"

Double crap.

"I was thinking we could go get some pizza, buddy. We'll go to that place near the park, and maybe we can even stop by and throw the football around under the lights. What do ya say?"

Parker appeared to be deep in thought. "I say we go to the diner and then go to the park anyway."

Well he had set himself up for that one. Ask a silly question...

"Fine," Booth sighed. "The diner it is." It wasn't as though she would actually be there. She was either holed up in the lab or already gone home for the night - most likely holed up in the lab trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Well _that_ made two of them. There was little chance she was going to remember to eat if he or Angela didn't push her to, so it wasn't like she'd be popping in.

"Hey! Parker, slow down...button up that coat!"

ooo … ooo … ooo

Parker was almost halfway finished slurping down his milkshake and Booth was busy staring into his wallet pulling out bills to pay their tab when he heard a sound that almost made him choke on the french fry he had just popped in his mouth.

"Bones!"

He froze in place instantly. The word hadn't come out of _his_ mouth, and there was only one other soul he allowed to call her that. Sure enough, when his eyes flew up to Parker, all he saw was the mop of blonde curls on the back of his son's head. Parker was turned around facing the door, waving one arm for all he was worth. Booth's eyes stayed frozen on the back of his son's head, resisting the urge to duck down and hide behind him. He couldn't bring himself to look as he waited for a reply. Please, please be a case of mistaken identity.

"Well hey there, little man!" Well _that_ wasn't her, but the voice did little to calm his panic - Angela. Great, there were two of them. He wasn't exactly outnumbered, but how much help would Parker be? Maybe he could at least be helpful in convincing them not to kill him in front of his son.

Booth finally raised his eyes in the direction of the door. He barely noticed Angela. Brennan, who had frozen into place just like he had, had recovered just a split second before him, moving to close her coat around herself and hold it closed. He looked up in time to see the motion, but not quickly enough to see what was under the coat. It alerted his senses for a split second that she was trying to hide something, but from the hem of the coat down he saw no cause for alarm - just black pants leading down to boots that seemed a little more Angela-like than Brennan-like, but nothing too terrible. And she didn't appear to be harmed in any way.

He was overreacting again, and this was exactly why he wanted to avoid her until he could talk to Sweets. He just had to get through this without making things worse, and then avoid her until he knew what was wrong with him. But just maybe if he got two seconds alone with her, he could find a way to at least apologize in the meantime so she would know he hadn't given up on them.

An awkward smile crossed her features as she reluctantly moved toward them at Angela's nudging, but the smile seemed more normal by the time she got there. "Hi, Parker!" she greeted his son warmly, reminding him once again of why he loved her. The Brennan of four years ago might have taken his head off right in front of Parker, but she was putting on a good front now for his little boy. "Are you spending the weekend with your dad?"

"Yep. We're going to the park and then I get to pick out donuts for breakfast. You guys should get a milkshake and sit down with us. They're really good!"

For the first time since earlier that day, Booth and Brennan's eyes met for just a moment before she flicked hers away. Hesitating, she smiled awkwardly at Parker again. "I don't really think that's a good idea, Parker."

"Why not?" asked the little boy.

"Bones..." Booth's eyes pled with her, begging her not to say anything in front of Parker.

"Well...because Angela and I have plans." She sounded incredibly unsure of what to say, fidgeting awkwardly. In so doing, she forgot for just a moment to keep a tight hold on her coat, which allowed it to fall open and reveal the tank top and the tight top of the pants she wore.

Angela had jumped in to save the conversation before Brennan could do something that was sure to make the top of Booth's head blow off, like trying to explain the finer points of clubbing and girls'-night-out to Parker - which would actually, she mused to herself, be somewhat entertaining. Smirking just a little at the thought, she dutifully distracted Parker by talking about his favorite flavor of donuts and just how much junk food he was going to run his dad for. But suddenly she stopped in mid-word as she noticed how all of the color had faded out of Booth's face, and that she was the only one talking. It wasn't funny anymore.

He sat staring at the outfit beneath Brennan's coat, the alarmingly white color fading from his face quickly as he put two and two together and started to turn cherry red instead, his fists noticeably clenching on the tabletop.

He had almost completely decided that he had misunderstood her earlier, and had been feeling incredibly guilty that he had accused her of wanting to pick up random guys when she must have just been asking for some time alone to come to terms with what had happened. The fact, however, that she was dressed to go out _clubbing_ with Angela seemed to disprove that theory.

He hadn't seen her dressed that way in a very long time, and he had been with Tessa then. Even so, he hadn't liked it then and he didn't like it now, for pretty much the same reasons - mostly because guys were going to be all over her. He had found the idea more than a little uncomfortable four years ago, though he hadn't wanted to admit it; now it just pissed him off completely. It wasn't even that she looked slutty - far, far from it. She looked amazing. And there was no way in hell he was the only guy who would agree.

The same rage and possessive anger that had flooded him earlier started to course through him again, and he was barely keeping it in check. She planned to do this _tonight?_ She couldn't even wait 24 hours after breaking up with him to go out looking for guys to set her little plan in motion? No way in hell. She wasn't ready for this, and she was going to get hurt. No. Fucking. Way. Not if he could help it. For the second time in just a few hours, his control snapped.

Remembering the forgotten wallet in his hands, he threw plenty of money on the table to cover his and Parker's tab and a generous tip. "Put your coat on, Parker," he said tightly, moving to his feet to take hold of her elbow and speak in a low voice that did nothing to conceal his fury. "Bones, let's go. Parker and I are going to drive you home."

"What?" She had finally found her voice. "Booth, what are you talking about? I'm here with Angela."

"Not in front of Parker," he hissed into her ear. "We'll talk about this Monday, but right now I'm taking you home and you're going to stay there."

Parker was fumbling with his coat and wasn't aware yet that anything out of the ordinary was going on, but Angela was looking at Booth like he had just sprouted a third eyeball in the middle of his forehead. Her eyes occasionally flicked over to Parker to make sure he was still preoccupied. When Brennan reacted to Booth's last statement by angrily yanking her arm out of Booth's grip, Parker looked up at the sudden motion. Angela acted quickly, pushing over the glass of water Booth had been drinking out of.

"Oh, Parker...I'm so sorry! It's all over you. Listen, why don't you go to the bathroom and get some paper towels? Try to dry off in there so we don't use up all the napkins, okay?"

The little boy scurried off, and Angela turned her attention to Booth and Brennan. They were glaring at each other, almost nose to nose. Angela was first to speak. "Booth, what the hell is the matter with you?"

It was enough to bring his anger on her. "And you! I can't _believe_ you're encouraging this! Are you out of _your_ mind too?" When Angela just continued to stare at him in wide-eyed shock, unable to believe what she was hearing, Booth snorted disgustedly. "You know what? Forget it. I'm done with this. Bones, I'm taking you home and that's the end of it. Let's go. Now."

He was reaching for Brennan's elbow again, and she had finally had enough. She had also been holding back a considerable amount of anger since her ordeal, and suddenly it flowed through her fresh and hot, and she didn't feel like fighting it anymore. Not to mention the fact that Booth grabbing at her was definitely triggering her 'trapped' reflex that had been so strong of late.

But instead of jumping away from him or flinching, her anger made her bold. First knocking his hand away somewhat more violently than was really necessary - because it wasn't as though he was trying to hurt her - she then hit him square in the chest with both hands, forcefully shoving him back with every bit of the confusion and fury she felt.

Her eyes glittered dangerously. "I came here with Angela, and I'm leaving with Angela," she said in the quietest, most furious voice he had ever heard. "And if you touch me again, Booth, I'm going to break your arm."

With that, she turned around and stomped right out the door, not waiting for Angela. Parker hadn't yet reappeared, and so Angela turned her attention back to Booth, shock still written all over her face. "I don't even know what to say, Booth. I'm not blind to the fact that you've both been through hell, but this is not you. Now I don't know what you think is going on here, but let me set the record straight: I made her come out for a girl's night out tonight because she was planning to spend her entire weekend down in bone storage trying to forget whatever happened between you two today, without eating or sleeping. That's it. I'm going to try to clean up your mess for you, but you need to talk to somebody, Booth; because if you keep this up you're going to lose her so fast your head will spin."

Parker reappeared from the bathroom right then, jogging back over to the table. "Where's Bones?"

Angela smiled warmly at him as she reached out to ruffle the little boy's hair. "She had to go, but she said to tell you goodbye and to make sure your dad buys you an extra dozen donuts to take home. I've got to go, too. Have fun, you two." With a meaningful glance over her shoulder at Booth, she quickly picked up and paid for Brennan's food, then left to go look for her friend.

ooo … ooo … ooo

Angela found Brennan already sitting in the passenger seat of her car when she returned to it. Although her eyes appeared dry, it was obvious from the state of her makeup that she had just angrily swiped a few tears away right before Angela got there.

"Sweetie, are you okay?"

Brennan took a deep breath, exhaling it a little more forcefully than she had intended. "Yes, I'm fine. Are we still going to the club?"

Angela nodded, but made no attempt to crank the car. "Yeah, sure, sweetie, if you want to. Listen, Brennan...the fight you and Booth had today - was it more of the same? Like what just happened in the diner, I mean?"

Another sharply exhaled breath, and then Brennan answered honestly. "Yes. Booth was angry about me canceling our lunch and dinner plans, as well as our sessions with Sweets. He also appeared to believe that I intended to be unfaithful to him."

Angela nodded again, deep in thought. "Hm. Brennan, something's wrong. I don't know what, but this is not like Booth. You know that, right?"

It was Brennan's turn to nod, her words coming out slowly as the wheels turned. "Yesss, I would agree with that assessment."

Angela turned to more fully face her friend, the club momentarily forgotten. "Sweetie, I'm worried about him. You weren't here to see it, but Booth got a little crazy when he realized you were missing. Between that and everything that happened when you guys were over there, I think he's just hit his limit. I almost think he's still scared you're going to disappear on him again. Just...I know I would normally be the first one telling you to call him, but not this time. I think he's right about giving him some time to cool down."

Brennan was just staring out the window, so Angela put a hand on her shoulder, withdrawing it immediately when Brennan jumped. But she had more to say, and so she continued anyway. "Brennan, I know relationships scare you, but I promise you...this is not what a relationship with Booth is going to be like. He's a better man than this and he loves you. He _trusts_ you. Whatever's going on, he needs our help right now. Just don't do anything rash like pushing him away permanently before he gets some help, okay? Don't shut him out completely, because I think if you do you might actually kill him."

That brought Brennan's eyes back to Angela sharply, concern evident in her eyes even as her words seemed to indicate otherwise. "It's highly unlikely that it would be fatal."

Angela cranked the car on a heavy sigh, making her way to the club she had actually been looking forward to going to until this happened. "You know what I mean, Bren. And you know I'm right."

ooo … ooo … ooo

The sweaty, pulse-pounding rhythm in the club, mingled with the press of bodies on every side, was proving to be an exercise in self-control for Brennan. In the past, she had never found herself nervous in such situations. It certainly wasn't as though she was unable to defend herself quite capably, and at the very least she could enjoy it as an observer with an eye toward the anthropological meanings.

This time, however, it felt as though people were coming at her from all sides. Each time someone bumped her, she froze awaiting the sting of the needle that was sure to follow, as when Tolka had first abducted her by bumping into her. Each time someone approached, it was all she could do not to back into a defensive posture, prepared to defend herself.

So long as they stayed at the bar, she was generally calm, and had thus far been able to keep her nervous reactions from Angela. On the dance floor, it was only through sheer force of will that she was able to remain outwardly calm, but she could feel her control slipping.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Angela ordered what she proclaimed to be their final round, but stifled a groan when Angela dragged her back toward the dance floor 'one last time.' Multiple men had approached the pair throughout the night, but Angela had quite ably sent them packing. Brennan had even attempted a few polite rejections, much to Angela's amusement - her friend's version of 'polite' and the rest of the world's definition were on opposite ends of the spectrum. But at least it had got the job done.

Neither of them saw the nice-looking but extremely drunk young man who approached Brennan from behind and put his hands on her waist, wanting to dance with her.

In a flash, Brennan had the man's fingers twisted in a painful hold, his arm pushed up behind his back.

"Bren! Let him go! Let him go!" Somehow, the panicked tone of Angela's voice got through to her, and she pushed the man away from her, releasing him.

Alcohol had better control of him than his senses, and he turned in drunk humiliation and lunged at her. Brennan easily ducked his clumsy swing, choosing to forgo any sleek martial arts moves in favor of pulling back with all of the frustration in her body and connecting her fist with the young man's jaw. In his condition, it laid him out flat, not quite unconscious but not ready to bounce back up either.

Bouncers were already headed in their direction, and Angela grabbed Brennan's uninjured hand in one of hers and started toward the exit, her other hand held out in front of her as she made their case to the bouncers. "We're going - we're going. He grabbed her. She was just defending herself."

Fortunately, at least one of them had seen the man lunge at her, and so they turned a blind eye and let them go without incident as they turned their attention to the man on the floor.

"We're going. Come on, Bren. We're going." Angela led her dazed friend out the door and toward her car.

ooo … ooo … ooo

 _Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang_

Unlike the previous occasion, this time Sweets barely even jumped. He was almost certain he knew who was at his door, having seen the way Booth jumped out of the chair in his office earlier that day. He was surprised, however, to see Parker with him.

"Booth...and Parker. Well this is a surprise. How are you, Parker?"

"I'm good. My dad said you probably have some really cool action figures."

Sweets shot a withering glance at Booth. "No, Parker, I don't." One look at the man, though, was enough to let him know that he needed to find a way to get Parker out of the room so he could talk to him. He hesitated, knowing he was about to hang himself in a way he would never live down. "I do have some _totally_ awesome video games, though. You want to play?"

"Cool!"

Booth had yet to speak, moving in and sitting down on the couch. Sweets led the younger Booth down the hallway and set him up in his home office with a racing game, leaving the door open just a crack before moving back into the living room. He sat opposite Booth for a few moments before finally speaking.

"Did Parker find another human body part?"

"No," Booth responded flatly.

"Is something wrong with Dr. Brennan?"

"No."

"You don't even have any comments to make about the video games?"

"No."

Sweets sighed. "Well, you did tell Parker that I would have action figures, so I know you're still in there somewhere. What's going on, Booth?"

"You were right, Sweets." It was so quiet Sweets barely heard it.

"Okay. What was I right about?"

"M ee-mmph."

"What?" Booth had buried his face in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees, and Sweets had barely heard anything.

"I said I need help." Still muffled, but loud enough to be audible this time.

Sweets' eyebrows almost went off the top of his head, wondering what had happened to prompt Booth's realization. "Okay. Absolutely. Why don't you tell me what happened, Booth?"

Booth dropped his hands and leaned his head back against the couch, slumping down and looking utterly miserable. If he hadn't been so serious, it would have been almost comical. "I'm crazy."

Sweets' lips did twitch at that one. "Define crazy."

Booth sighed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I've lost it, Sweets. I've gone completely insane. I was going to wait until Parker went home, but I need you to fix me _now._ "

Sweets looked at him sympathetically. "I need a little more than that."

Booth sighed even louder. "Bones broke up with me and I went _Fatal Attraction_ on her." He clenched his teeth, obviously reliving something that bothered him immensely. "Twice."

Again, Sweets' lips twitched against his will. Booth was admitting he needed help, but he needed to get him out of the melodrama and feeling sorry for himself, and get him to start giving him something useful. "I wasn't aware Dr. Brennan had a pet rabbit."

Booth's head shot up and he glared at him. "What, are you 12? How do you even know that movie?"

Sweets allowed a small smile. _'Bingo.'_ , he thought. _'Welcome back, Booth.'_

"My point is that I know you, Booth. I've never had you figured for the bunny-boiling type, so I somehow doubt it was quite as extreme as you're suggesting. Why don't you just tell me what happened?"

ooo … ooo … ooo

Once Booth started talking, it quickly became easier and easier, aided by the fact that he felt like he was finally _doing_ something constructive to repair the situation between himself and Brennan - and to repair himself, in general. It also helped somewhat that the shocked horror he expected to see on Sweets' face never once appeared, even when he took a deep breath, sucked it up, and spit out every detail of his last two conversations with Bones, not sparing any of the gruesome details about his bad behavior or trying to make himself look better in any way.

If anything, Sweets seemed much more interested in his reactions from that first time he had taken Bones back out into the field on the Bernadetti case - the one he had bulldozed his way into. He hadn't even meant to go into that, but after he finished relaying the details of his last two conversations with Bones, Sweets sat nodding thoughtfully for so long that Booth felt compelled to fill the silence. Working backward, he also went into detail about how nervous he had been taking her first into the Jeffersonian parking garage and then into the field.

"It was like I thought everybody we saw was going to hurt her," he finally finished. "And when I saw that tech holding the murder weapon close to her, I lost it. I almost tackled her, Sweets."

His chin resting on his clasped hands, Sweets nodded as though it made perfect sense, uttering the first word he had spoken since Booth started talking. "HyperArousal."

Booth's mouth fell open, a horrified look crossing his features. "Hyperarou- hyper _arousal!_ Oh my God, you think it's some kind of _sexual thing_?" He whispered the final two words, whether for his own benefit or Parker's down the hall it wasn't immediately clear. "You're saying that I'm looking for reasons to grab her because I want to _attack_ her again?" The look on Booth's face clearly said, _'Oh dear God, I'm even more screwed up than I thought.'_

"No, no, no, no, no," Sweets assured him. "We can call it hypervigilance if you're more comfortable with that term. Don't let the word 'arousal' throw you - there's nothing sexual about it. HyperArousal is a cluster of symptoms within Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or as would be more accurate in your case Acute Stress Disorder. One of the ways it manifests itself is a feeling of being constantly on-guard. You described it perfectly - thinking danger is around every corner. Only in your case, you perceive the danger as being to Dr. Brennan rather than to yourself, which is something I'd like to explore."

Booth looked somewhat calmer, but only slightly. Thanks to his military days, _that_ was at least a term he was familiar with. "So that's what's wrong with me? Acute Stress Disorder?"

Sweets shook his head, shrugging a shoulder. "No, not necessarily. HyperArousal is only one of the criteria needed to make that diagnosis. It can also be a completely normal response to the ordeal you suffered."

Frustration filled the FBI agent's face. "That's just it, Sweets! Why is there anything wrong with me at all? I wasn't the one who was kidnapped. I'm not the one who thought my best friend was going to rape me. I'm not the one who almost died! I should be helping _her,_ not needing help myself."

Sweets had leaned forward, his expression suddenly very animated and his hands gesturing enthusiastically. "You know what's especially interesting right there? Your choice of the phrase 'best friend' to describe your relationship to Dr. Brennan when discussing that particular event speaks of a..."

"Sweets," Booth growled, a clear warning, and the young psychologist deflated visibly as he got back on track with a sigh.

"Okay, fine. This is what I've been trying to get you to understand all along, Booth, ever since you got back from Albania. While Dr. Brennan underwent a tremendous ordeal, you did as well. You have clearly stated to me before, on more than one occasion, that you love Dr. Brennan, in a romantic way. I don't think you've fully realized the depth of what happened to _you._ The woman you love was literally stolen away from you, and in order to rescue her you were forced not only to take multiple lives, but also to perform a simulated rape upon her while she screamed and fought you. While it's very noble that you've been focused on _her_ recovery, you've completely denied that that experience had any lasting psychological effect on _you_. Your nightmares, your terror of her disappearing or being hurt again and your hyper-protectiveness - even the angry outbursts you described to me are all linked, Booth. They are all issues - among others - that you need to confront head-on."

Skepticism filled Booth's face. "Even if all of that's true, Sweets, that doesn't explain why I keep losing control with her and acting like some kind of psycho stalker. I've never been the jealous, controlling type, but Bones finally tells me she loves me and then I just lose it. Every time she's out of my sight I'm convinced that she's either run off somewhere or..."

"Or what?" Sweets encouraged questioningly.

"Or that something's happened to her, or that she's changed her mind. Or that she's with somebody else," he finished reluctantly.

"You mean another man."

Booth rolled his eyes in exasperation, sarcasm filling his tone. "No, Sweets, that she ran off and joined the circus. Yes, another man! I'm not worried about what happened to me, or the nightmares or the stress disorder or the superarousal or whatever the hell you called it. I can deal with that. What I want you to fix is my obsession issues or whatever the hell is making me act like a controlling, jealous bastard."

Sweets stayed perfectly calm. "Okay. First of all, Booth, by obsession I think you mean fixation. And that's totally not the problem. You are not fixated on Dr. Brennan, and you are not stalking her. So you can stop worrying about that."

"How can you be so sure?" Booth challenged him, his tone showing just how truly concerned he had become about that issue and how much _he_ needed to be sure.

Without missing a beat, Sweets leaned forward and looked him right in the eye, a small smile twisting the corners of his mouth. "Because you're here talking to me instead of sitting outside her apartment with a pair of binoculars," he deadpanned.

Booth still didn't look convinced, rubbing a frustrated hand through his hair and scrubbing it back and forth as he remembered just how seriously he had considered doing exactly that when he first thought she intended to look for a man to 'heal' herself with - well, minus the binoculars. He hadn't quite crossed the line to being a complete perv just yet, at least.

"What makes you think that's not where I'm going when I leave here?" he shot back instead, his tone mimicking seriousness. "And why didn't I think of the binoculars," was the muttered follow-up intended to mess with Sweets' head a little. He wasn't serious, but he was interested in Sweets' reaction. Because if Sweets only knew just exactly how tempted he had been to follow her and Angela to whatever damn nightclub they were going to, Parker in tow, even after Angela made it plain that Brennan wasn't planning to hook up with anybody and that he had overreacted terribly - again - then Sweets would probably have him committed; or arrested.

For just a second, Sweets' smile faltered. "Wu- what, seriously?" he squeaked. Complete disbelief filled his face for just a second, until Booth shot him a 'you-idiot' dirty look that clearly said he'd been making a joke, albeit a self-deprecating one.

"That's great, Sweets. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Of course I'm not serious."

Sweets mostly just seemed relieved, if a little flustered. "Not cool, Booth. Wow. Not cool."

Booth still looked miserable, but was starting to seem a little less tightly wound, at any rate. "Well, you know, that's what you get for that crack about the rabbit. Seriously, Sweets, if it's not obsession or fixation or fatal-attraction, then what the hell is wrong with me? I have some kind of control issue, right?"

Sweets sighed heavily, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. Booth had thrown him off topic just as he was getting on a roll, but if he wanted so badly to go down this path then he was ready to humor him. Booth wasn't going to like it, though.

After the softball questions he was used to Sweets throwing him, the hard fastball right down the middle knocked Booth more than a little off balance.

"Fine. Booth, why do you want to control Dr. Brennan?"

Booth blanched, his eyes growing wide, his voice soft with shock. "What? No! God, Sweets - I don't! No!" Every expression other than complete horror at that suggestion had faded from his face, along with all of his color. "No! Why do you - my God, is that what you think?" The man was so white it was almost frightening.

Not cutting him any slack, Sweets shrugged without pity. "No. As a matter of fact, I don't. But you don't seem very interested in hearing what I _do_ have to say, and you still refuse to face the deeper issues. So I'm more interested now in what you think. If you don't want to control Dr. Brennan, then why _do_ you keep overreacting to her every move?"

Booth looked lost. "That's what _you're_ supposed to tell _me."_

"And you're only interested in one part of this, Booth, and you seem to think I have some sort of light switch I can flip and fix you tonight in one hour, and only fix what you want fixed. It doesn't work that way, and it's not going to work at all until you're ready to deal with _everything_ \- the nightmares, what happened with you and Dr. Brennan, the lives you took: _all_ of it. Until you are, what I think doesn't matter. And if you're only willing to talk to me tonight and then give up, I can't help you anyway. So you answer _my_ question. Why do _you_ think you're reacting the way you are every time Dr. Brennan leaves your sight?"

Had Angela been there, she might have described the look on Booth's face as looking like someone kicked his puppy. "I don't know, Sweets. There are a lot of reasons. I want to protect her so she doesn't get hurt again. I don't want her to shut me out. I don't want to lose her."

Without flinching, Sweets showed no mercy. "But don't you think your behavior _is_ hurting her? And your other two fears will be the end result - she _will_ shut you out and you _will_ lose her. You're gaining nothing."

"I _know_ that, damnit!" Booth shouted at him, pushing to his feet.

"Sit down, Booth," Sweets commanded quietly, surprising even himself. To his great shock, Booth obeyed. And if he didn't realize just how hard Sweets' heart was pounding, then Sweets just considered that an added benefit. _He_ certainly wasn't going to bring it up.

"Powerlessness and control are only one piece of the puzzle, but if that's all you want to talk about we'll start there. We discussed before how much control was taken from Dr. Brennan. What I want you to understand is that you experienced something similar, Booth, although in a different way. You certainly felt powerless to help her while you were en route to Albania. You undoubtedly felt powerless when you finally entered the room where Dr. Brennan was being held, only to realize there was nothing you could do to free her - and even more so when you realized what your only option was. The circumstances were dictated to you. You had no control over them, and you could only react. And it didn't end in that room. You've felt powerless to help her ever since. You've been trying to hold _her_ together, reacting to her reactions and ignoring your own issues in the process. But every time you see her struggle you feel even more helpless than she does, which only causes your own difficulties to become worse. It's a vicious cycle and it's taken a toll on you, Booth. You feel powerless to help someone you love. That would take a toll on anybody, but especially on someone with the type of strong protective tendencies that are part of your basic makeup."

Finally, Booth was listening. The moment Sweets mentioned him feeling powerless to help Bones, something in him clicked. He _did_ feel powerless to help her, but he _needed_ desperately to help her.

Sweets didn't even slow down. "We discussed HyperArousal or hypervigilance earlier. Interruptions in sleep, irritability, even angry and violent outbursts like you've described are all part of that, as well as the feelings of near-constant danger. That certainly plays a part in your reactions to Dr. Brennan. I also notice that all of the reactions that you have experienced center around her. Your feelings of danger around every corner are danger to _her_ , not yourself. Your irritability and angry outbursts have either been directed _at_ her or directly related to what's going on with her. I'm guessing that even the majority of your nightmares center around Dr. Brennan. Am I right?"

At Booth's reluctant nod, Sweets continued. "But I think it goes even deeper than that. I think that at the root of everything, you feel respo-..."

"Daddy?"

Both men turned to see a sleepy-eyed Parker standing in the hallway.

"Can we go home now? I'm tired of racing."

Booth was up in a heartbeat. "Yeah, buddy. I'm sorry. Just button up your coat and I'll be right there." To Sweets, he spoke in a low voice. "What? What were you going to say?"

Sweets wasn't going there with Parker in the room. "We'll get into it later, Booth. Just promise me that you'll come back and talk to me when Parker goes home."

Booth nodded gratefully. "Here?"

Sweets smiled, spreading his hands out with a boyish shrug and smile that again illustrated how young he really was. "Sure, why not? Here we're just two friends chatting. The FBI isn't involved."

With a grateful and understanding nod, Booth bundled up his little boy and left to take him home, determined to try to enjoy the rest of his weekend with him.

ooo … ooo … ooo

"What you have there, Ms. Brennan, is what's commonly called a boxers fracture." The tired, bored E.R. doctor was already writing up the order for a soft cast, not really interested in the details of how it happened.

"It's Doctor Brennan, and I'm quite well aware of that," she said stoically, as though 30 minutes before arriving in the E.R. she hadn't been rocked by her worst flashback yet just outside the doors of the nightclub, one that ended with her slamming her already sore hand into the brick wall with all of her might.

Angela dragging her by the hand had suddenly, in her mind's eye, turned into an attacker. She had only narrowly missed striking Angela, realizing at the last moment what was going on and taking her fury out on the wall instead, raining blows on it until Angela got through to her and wrapped her in her arms as she broke down and sobbed great heaving sobs for herself, Booth, and for the whole damn situation.

He paid her little to no attention. "You're quite fortunate that the damage isn't severe enough to require a hard cast or even surgery to insert pins. This type of fracture..."

"She knows," Angela cut in. "She's what you might call an expert on the skeletal system. In fact, she probably could have taken care of this herself. I'm the one that dragged her in here."

The doctor shrugged. "Fine. Then I suppose she knows how to take care of the cast as well?"

Angela just raised her eyebrows at him, with a tight-lipped smile.

"Very well. Follow up with your primary care physician. I've written you a prescription for a painkiller as well as an anti-inflammatory. That should help with the bruising and swelling. Don't punch any more walls, _Doctor_ Brennan."

He left them to wait for someone to come in and give her the cast and discharge her, and Brennan sat on the table looking somewhat sheepish. "I don't like him."

Angela smiled sympathetically. "Yeah. Me either. Sweetie, are you sure you don't want me to call Booth?"

Brennan sucked in a sharp breath that gave her away before giving exactly the answer Angela would have expected. "Why would I call Booth for a fractured metacarpal? That would be like Booth calling me for parenting advice. Besides, you're the one who said I shouldn't call Booth right now."

Angela shook her head on a low chuckle. "That's different, Bren. You almost collapsed outside the club. You're in the hospital. I know Booth's a little scary right now, but I think he might actually have reason to be upset if you don't call him when you're hurt. You know he would want to know. He's really going to go through the roof if he finds out by seeing you in a cast."

Her back was ramrod straight as she sat on the table, ready to plead with Angela not to call him. "I'm not _in_ the hospital. I'm being treated in the E.R. and released. And I wouldn't even be here if you hadn't insisted, and if you weren't driving. There's nothing Booth can do. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of this myself."

Angela moved out of her chair, going to stand right in front of Brennan. "Remember that conversation we had about not shutting out Booth completely? Yeah. Well _this_ is what I'm talking about. At least let me call and tell him, Bren. After everything he's done for you, I think we both owe him that much."

Anger flashed through her eyes. "No. Booth has Parker anyway. Don't call him, Ange."

Not for the first time and probably not for the last, Angela felt like smacking her head against the wall. "Fine. But you're making a mistake. Maybe you didn't do anything to set him off the first two times, but this time you're wrong. He's worried enough about something happening to you as it is. This is going to hurt him."

... ooo ... ooo ...

Booth had every intention of going back to see Sweets on Sunday night - at least until Rebecca got hung up in traffic on her way back from wherever-the-hell she had decided to go for the weekend, and Booth ended up driving Parker home at 10:30 on a Sunday night so that Rebecca and Parker wouldn't be out that late by themselves. It was almost 11:00 before he got home, and he was surprised how tired he was after chasing his son around for one weekend. Either he was getting very, very old or Sweets was right about things taking a toll on him.

He had called Sweets and let him know, but he was more than a little worried when Sweets reminded him of their joint appointment with him at 4:00 the next day. He had no misconceptions at all about the fact that he wouldn't be seeing her before then, and seeing her for the first time in therapy was just terrifying, especially after what he and Sweets had already discussed - and especially knowing that he hadn't made any progress yet.

And whether she showed up or not, he was a loser either way: if she showed up, he had to deal with her before he was ready; if she _didn't_ show up, he was effectively out of reasons to see her, because Sweets had made it clear that they attend this particular session or _else,_ obviously intending to make good on his threat to suspend her field privileges until they did. What if she simply chose not to come? It would be a pretty effective way of distancing herself from him permanently. The idea almost broke him out in a cold sweat, and had him grasping for control to keep from swooping down on the Jeffersonian, throwing her over his shoulder and _dragging_ her into Sweets' office kicking and screaming if necessary. Clearly, he still had a long way to go; because even though he was pretty sure it wouldn't exactly help convince her _or_ him that he wasn't some kind of obsessed lunatic, it still seemed like a pretty damn good idea.

And so he sat on Sweets' couch early for the second time in a row - which had to be some kind of goddamn personal record, considering the lengths he would have previously gone to to avoid being there at _all_ \- not even caring what Sweets was going to make out of the way that he kept bouncing his leg and looking over his shoulder toward the door every two seconds. He probably found it 'interesting', but Booth was beyond caring. Maybe going and dragging her to therapy wasn't such a bad idea after all...

"I'm sorry I'm late," came the breathless voice behind his shoulder, during the one nanosecond that he actually _hadn't_ been staring at the door.

His head spun around so fast it was a wonder his neck didn't snap, and he was on his feet like a shot. "Bones! Hi!"

Jesus, he thought. That was subtle.

She stood almost shyly in the door, as though unsure what to do, holding her coat folded over her midsection with her hands hidden behind it.

"Dr. Brennan, hello," Sweets saved the day. "I'm pleased you could make it. Please, come in and have a seat. You can just hang your coat up and we'll get started."

She still hadn't moved from the door, her feet shuffling a little awkwardly. "Thanks. I'll just hold onto it."

Uncomfortable with how uncomfortable she was, Booth just wanted to make it better. Did she think he didn't want to see her? _'Wow, genius, whatever would have given her that idea?'_ Already on his feet, he moved to meet her at the door, trying to communicate with his eyes just how glad he was to see her. "Don't be silly, Bones," he scolded gently, putting a smile on his face. "Here, let me take that for you."

The last thing he expected was for her to cry out in pain, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut as his eager pulling on the coat caused her a sudden sharp burst of pain where she had it wrapped around her damaged hand to conceal her cast.

He stopped pulling instantly, freezing into place for just a second with his wide eyes locked on her face. "Oh my God...Bones, what's wrong?"

She didn't answer, and his eyes were intense as he carefully and gently - but with pure determination - put down her half-hearted attempt to stop him as he quickly removed the coat from her arms. A soft gasp escaped his lips as that action revealed the cast on her hand. His mouth fell slightly open as he took in the ugly bruises and deep cuts on her knuckles, where she had bloodied them against the club wall. The swelling where the fingers stuck out from the cast was equally disturbing.

"God, Bones," he breathed. One of his hands was under her wrist, supporting her arm as he examined it, the fact that Sweets was watching his every move completely forgotten. His other hand moved of its own volition to her damaged fingers, brushing beneath them and lingering there with his palm beneath them, a touch so gentle that it almost made her, irrationally, want to cry.

"Baby, what _happened?"_

In his worry, the intimate endearment was out of his mouth almost before he realized it, and he knew it was a mistake just as quickly. His eyes rose to hers just in time to see the wall snap into place in front of them, as she gingerly but with determination removed her hand from between his. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

She moved to step past him and make her way to her seat, and for the third time his control snapped. Had he thought about the fact that - joy of joys - Sweets was there to see it this time, he might have actually found it within himself to restrain his passions. But the young doctor might well have been invisible for all that Booth cared about his presence.

His hand landed on her shoulder, spinning her back around to face him. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, and she sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the intensity on his face.

"Did somebody hurt you?"

"Booth..." she tried to step away, but his hand was still a heavy weight on her shoulder, not squeezing or hurting her but not allowing her to move away either.

He bent down slightly to make them the same height, his eyes boring into hers and his other hand coming to her other shoulder as he repeated his question through clenched teeth.

"Did somebody _hurt_ you?"

"No!" This time she did wrench away from him, her own voice low and her own eyes a little wild. "And I warned you about touching me again, Booth."

Neither of them saw Sweets' eyebrows climb even higher on his head. Booth had left that little detail out when he told him the story.

Booth ignored her completely, not touching her again but moving forward to stay in her personal space. "Did this happen at the club? _Answer_ me, Bones." The command came out on a growl, this time scaring even himself.

"Yes!" she spat out at him, her expression furious.

She needn't have worried that he was going to yell at her anymore. Hearing that she had been injured at the club - a place she would never have been if he hadn't lost it with her the second time in bone storage, a fact he was quite sure of thanks to Angela - had taken all the wind out of his sails.

He almost looked ready to cry as he backed away from her. "So this is my fault too." There wasn't even a trace of sarcasm in his voice. He was deadly serious. "I let you get hurt again."

For just a second, it looked like she intended to argue with him. But the walls held firmly in place, and she reached out with her good arm and snatched her coat from the floor where it had fallen from his hands. "This was a bad idea."

She made as though she was going to walk out the door. Whether or not Booth would have followed her, they never found out - because suddenly they were both surprised by the voice that rang out across the room.

"Both of you, sit down!"

In shocked unison, they turned to stare at Sweets, who was now on his feet.

"I mean it. Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, don't either one of you even think about leaving. You've both just proved my point, and we're going to talk about it right now, together."

She recovered enough to argue with him. "I'm not an employee of the FBI, Sweets. You can't force me to stay here."

No use in growing a backbone if you're not willing to flex it, so he took a deep breath and did just that. "No, Dr. Brennan, but Dr. Saroyan is aware of all you have been through and has at least some faith in my opinions. Are you completely certain that I can't convince her to suspend you from all duties at the lab until you either speak with me or seek help elsewhere?"

Actually, she wasn't. It sounded like something Cam would do, in a misguided attempt to 'help' her. Why was everyone so determined to do that when she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself?

She had never answered, but she didn't have to. Sweets was, after all, an expert in body language.

"Good. Then if you'll both have a seat, we're going to start with the fact that Agent Booth blames himself for everything that has happened to you, including your kidnapping."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Booth's backside had barely landed in one of the chairs in front of Sweets' desk when the thought first hit him. He had at first been completely shocked by Bones' injury, shock turning to concern, concern giving way to passionate fury at whoever had hurt her, and that fury finally being turned inward and quickly morphing into guilt; in the middle of all that, he had forgotten all about the fact that she had clearly wrapped her coat around her cast to hide it from him.

Turning hurt, shocked eyes toward her just as she took her seat, his sudden realization spilled right across his lips before Sweets could even begin to expand on his own statement.

"You weren't even going to tell me."

She was staring straight ahead at Sweets, not looking at him. He took that as a sign that she wasn't denying his accusation, and turned even more in his seat to face her. There was no anger in his voice - rather, his tone was filled with all the hurt and betrayal he felt. "Why didn't you call me? You were going to hide this from me completely, weren't you?"

Sweets sat quietly, allowing the interruption. He had every intention of getting back to the point he had introduced, but he was curious himself about the answer and where this turn in the conversation would lead. Not surprisingly, there _was_ no answer, and Booth continued to carry on the very one-sided conversation, his voice soft and pained. "You won't even look at me. Why, Bones? God, have I really made you hate me that much?"

The final soft question broke through the mask of composure she wore for the benefit of Sweets, and her head snapped over to look straight at Booth, surprise and something else flashing in her eyes. "I don't hate you, Booth. You know that. I _told_ you that."

Her eyes were finally on him and he wasn't willing to relinquish that, trying to hold her gaze steady on him even as his heart skipped a beat. The way she said that, it almost sounded like she meant... but it wasn't possible she still felt that way after all of his aggressive, jealous behavior, was it?

He had to be sure. "What do I know? Spell it out for me, Bones."

Suddenly uncomfortable, her eyes flicked off of Booth onto Sweets and then back as she obviously hesitated. "Perhaps now is not the best time."

Realizing exactly why she was hesitant, Sweets interjected. "Let me assure you, Dr. Brennan, I have no intention of using anything said in this session today against the two of you. Agent Booth has already spoken with me at length concerning some of the recent changes in your relationship. It's all right. The purpose of this session today is _not_ to evaluate your effectiveness as partners. It is to work through the events surrounding your abduction. You can and should answer honestly."

Her gaze fixed back on Booth, and she only hesitated a moment more before answering truthfully. "You know how I...feel." She had clearly been searching for a different word, and wasn't entirely comfortable expressing it in the terms of 'feeling.'

Booth, however, knew what she meant. It should have made his heart soar, but the hesitant way she said it gave him pause. Instead, he looked as though he wanted to believe her but just couldn't. "If that's still true, then tell me what happened to your hand, Bones. Please. I need to know."

His eyes were pleading with her, but when she dropped hers to her lap he took it to mean that she wasn't going to meet him halfway.

And the dam broke for him, sadness filling his voice as he responded. "Then I don't believe you, Bones. Because you were going to walk out that door just now, knowing Sweets would terminate our partnership if you didn't stay."

"Booth..."

But he was just getting wound up. "The only reason you stayed was because he threatened to have Cam suspend you from the Jeffersonian."

With each word he spoke, he sounded more and more convinced; but it only caused more and more anger to bubble up within her in response. She had not envisioned this conversation going this way: her being forced to defend her feelings for Booth, _to_ Booth, and in front of Sweets, no less.

"That's not true, Booth!" She sounded slightly more agitated that time, the tension in the room rapidly escalating.

Her denial only seemed to fuel his argument, although his tone stayed quiet - more hurt than angry. "No? Why do you think that's what he threatened you with? I'm not blind, Bones. Even Sweets knew you wouldn't stay if he only threatened to break us up! Because if that's all that was at stake, you were perfectly willing to just walk out that door and give up on us, weren't you?"

By the time he finished, Brennan was seeing red from both anger and embarrassment. And then suddenly none of that mattered, and the dam broke for her as well - and it broke in the form of far more than she had intended to admit, especially with an out-of-control, raised voice.

 _"No!_ Why do you think I came here today at all, Booth _?_ I'm here for _you!"_

The words had poured out of her without forethought. In the aftermath of her passionate explosion, the total silence that then engulfed the room was a stark contrast - a silence so thick it was almost stifling, as all three parties in the room processed what she had just said and what it meant.

Booth could only sit gaping at her, the truth in her words so clear that even he couldn't begin to question it. She _was_ there because of him. And even if she _had_ been ready to walk out the door moments before, he couldn't exactly profess ignorance as to what might have propelled her to do so. He had lost control with her - again. The fact that she still cared at all after the way he had been treating her was, to his mind, almost unbelievable. But how did they get through everything that had happened and get back on track?

So much time passed that Sweets was just about to turn the conversation back to the topic he had originally hoped to pursue; but Brennan shocked him by saving him the trouble. Her soft voice suddenly rang out through the silence, cutting it in half in much the same way her piercing gaze seemed to cut right through Booth.

"Is what Sweets said true? Do you blame yourself for what happened to me? Is that why you have been so upset?"

Her loaded question snapped Booth out of his shocked silence, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his chair. It was his turn to offer a nonanswer, and he knew what the 'right' answer to that question was - it was whatever would give Sweets the least reason to pick apart his head in front of her. He was fine with Sweets picking his brain if it was necessary, but only in private; not in front of Bones.

"Do I blame myself?" he repeated, as he turned his answer over in his head, squeezing his interlocked fingers tightly together. "Only for the parts that were..." he cleared his throat nervously, "…you know, my fault." She didn't necessarily have to know that, at least as far as he was concerned, _all_ of it was his fault.

Her eyes were fixed on him in a look that he recognized - it was the same focus she gave to skeletal remains when she was hot on the trail of an answer. "And what parts are those?"

This time it was _him_ who was unable to look at _her_. "We've been through that, Bones," he began noncommittally. "You know what I had to do."

"I'm not talking about that part. What else, Booth? I know that there's more. When you saw my cast, you said that was your fault too."

She had him, and he knew it. "You'd have never been in that club in the first place if not for the way I talked to you that day. Angela told me herself that she took you there because of what happened between me and you. So yeah, I figure that was probably my fault too - whatever it was that happened."

She ignored his pointed reference to the fact that she still hadn't told him what happened, and continued to pursue her point with all the tenacity of a dog with a bone. "But you said you 'let me get hurt _again_.' Booth, you didn't 'let me get hurt' in Albania. None of what happened there was your fault in any way. It was Edon Tolka who abducted me. That was certainly not your fault."

Something changed in his eyes. The fact that he hadn't told her everything had been weighing on him, and suddenly it was all spilling out beyond his control. "It _was_ my fault, Bones, that he hurt you as much as he did. You don't understand. I _had_ him. I had him and I let him go. I let him trick me, and you could have been killed because of it!"

This was new to her, and she shook her head in confusion. "But you told me..."

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, pacing the room angrily. "Yes, eventually I got him. That was true. He's dead and gone, and God help me, I'm glad. But first I interrogated him, and I _let him go_. I could have found you at least 10 hours earlier, but I let the little bastard get into my head."

He stopped pacing to see her wide, confused eyes on him, and forced himself to sit back down facing her. If he was going to own up to why she suffered through as much as she did, he could damn sure look at her while he destroyed what little faith she might possibly have left in him.

"After I let Tolka go, I drove all the way from Tirana to Vlore and stormed the _wrong damn building._ I was still in Vlore with no clue where you were or that you were there too, when Sweets and Zack finally figured out that Tolka was behind your disappearance. I had to drive all the way back to Tirana to find Edon _._ Then after I finally beat it out of the son-of-a-bitch where you were, I had to go all the way _back_ to Vlore. It _is_ my fault, Bones. That's better than 9 hours, just driving. How much more did you have to go through because I let that bastard trick me? Do you have any idea what I could have let happen to you in that much time?"

Brennan was sitting silently, digesting this new piece of the puzzle, and so it was Sweets whose voice cut in softly.

"As I explained to you at the time, Agent Booth, Tolka was almost certainly a sociopath. And as I also told you at the time, sociopaths have been known to easily beat lie detector tests. There was nothing you could have done differently, and you had no _reason_ to hold him or not to believe him. I'm a trained psychologist, and if it weren't for the small inconsistencies I noted between the two separate videos of him at different times, I might not have made the connection either."

But Booth didn't want to hear it. "I should have smelled it on him," he pushed out between gritted teeth. "I should have _known."_

"Booth..." This time it _was_ Brennan. "Rationally speaking..."

"Bones, just stop. I should have _known_ he took you. I should have felt it in my gut."

She didn't even acknowledge him, just carrying right on with her thought. "Rationally speaking, had you determined my location 10 hours earlier, you might not have found me at all."

" _What?"_ She at least had his attention now.

"I had only been dressed and prepared for auction a few hours before Naji found me, under the guise of purchasing me for you as a prostitute."

"God, Bones," he winced. He hadn't quite caught her point yet, more affected by the way she had chosen to word it. The idea of her being sold was still a horrifying one to him. The idea of him buying her like that, even as a guise, was worse than horrifying; it was enough to make him sick.

But she wasn't done.

"Logically, had Naji arrived 10 hours earlier or even a full day earlier, my captors would not yet have believed me to be sufficiently dependent upon their drugs. Therefore, I would not have been among the pool of women brought in for him to choose from. You would have been unable to determine my exact location within the building, making a rescue attempt even more dangerous. Even if you did locate me before auction, I would have still been handcuffed to the bed where they drugged me. Again, you would have been unable to free me, and you would not have had even the advantage of performing for the cameras to maintain a cover. And had you been later, I might have been sent to auction and you still wouldn't have found me. It would appear that your timing was, in fact, perfect."

Booth blinked once, twice...he hadn't thought of it that way. Had Naji not been able to determine her _exact_ location and provided a way to have him led straight to her, storming that maze of a building looking for her would have been impossibly dangerous. They might never have found her - she and the other women could have been whisked away out another exit and he would have never seen her again.

And then something else she had just said stuck out to him, causing him to realize just how very little they had really discussed the details of what happened during the portions of the entire ordeal when they weren't together.

"They handcuffed you to a bed to drug you?" he repeated softly, his face contorting with a mixture of anger, pain, and sympathy. "Bones..." he breathed, his eyes closing and his lips pressing into a thin line. He had certainly known that a handcuff had been around her wrist at some point, probably for quite some time. He had, after all, seen the horrible marks on her wrists - had, in fact, been forced to grab them and hurt her when she had panicked and fought him, and he had found no choice but to restrain her. He had known drugs were involved too, obviously. But he hadn't known under exactly what circumstances she received them - hadn't really wanted to. For all he knew, she had been chained to a wall or to the floor. Somehow, especially considering all that he had done to her later, knowing she had been chained to a bed just made it that much worse in his mind.

"Yes," she answered, "with one other woman. It appeared to be some type of holding area, a place to confine us while they attempted to make us reliant upon their drugs. I estimate that there were at least 50 beds, each curtained off. Someone would come around occasionally to inject us. The other young woman was already fully dependent upon the drugs. I observed that when they would come, if she appeared dazed from the effects of the drugs, they would not inject her again. I was able to mimic that response, and thereby avoid multiple doses of the drugs."

"Unbelievable." That came from a wide-eyed Sweets, who was listening to her story in utter fascination, clearly affected by what he was hearing. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan. That's just - I'm sorry you had to endure that."

The look on Booth's face, while equally horrified, held clear admiration. "That was good, Bones. Smart. You saved yourself." His eyes slipped shut again, but not before the guilt washed back across his face, evident to both other occupants of the room. "I'm sorry you had to."

Brennan's eyes flicked to Sweets once again, indecision written on her face. The clear guilt on Booth's face, however, made the decision for her, and she willed herself to forget the presence of Sweets and tell Booth what he needed to know.

"You're the reason I was _able_ to," she began hesitantly, watching his eyes pop open and lock onto hers at that admission. It felt to Booth and even Sweets like all the air had just been sucked out of the room at such a bold statement from her, but it didn't even slow her down now that the words were out of her mouth. Her decision was made to tell him this, and she was going to do it without further hesitation or fear of repercussion.

"I wasn't able to avoid all of the doses of the drug. I received just enough of them that I began to crave it. Although I knew what was certain to happen to me if I allowed them to continue injecting me, the temptation was quite strong to drop the pretense and allow them to do so. The symptoms of withdrawal were painful. I knew, however, that you would be looking for me and that you would, in fact, find me. That knowledge was what gave me the strength to fight them."

Her revelation did not have the effect that she had hoped for. Instead, Booth looked as though he had just been stabbed through the heart. Long moments passed before he spoke, barely above a whisper. "You held on for me. All those hours, you were waiting for me to get there." Angela had told him as much, but he had not given it very much credence. Hearing it directly from Bones, however...

"Yes," she answered honestly, not understanding the look on his face. "I knew you would find me. I just didn't know when. I shattered a pitcher and armed myself with a piece of broken glass in case I received a chance to escape. But I resisted the urge to use it until the very last moment, to give you time to find me. I never doubted that you would come, Booth. My only question was if you would find me before I had no choice other than fighting to escape or dying in the attempt."

"And then I..." Booth's squeezed his eyes shut, looking for all the world like he was desperately trying to block out the memory.

Sweets practically saw the light bulb click on over Dr. Brennan's head. He understood fully why it bothered Booth so much that she had been hoping against hope for him to come to her rescue. Now, he saw, she knew it too

"You did what you had to do, Booth." Her voice was calm, certain, now that she had deduced why her admission seemed to bother him so much. "If you hadn't done it, we would both have been killed. Right?"

It was that completely trusting, innocent, one-word question that did him in. He had truly never intended for her to know. It was the one detail he had every intention of keeping from her. But listening to her talk about his disgusting actions like he was some kind of hero when he _knew_ better was more than he could take, and his last secret from her came pouring out, drenched in bitterness.

"No, Bones. I didn't have to. It would have turned out the same way even if I had never touched you." His eyes were fixed on a point beside her head and his voice was hollow as the words left him, each one cutting him deeply.

"Booth?" Some of the certainty was gone from her face at that admission, her eyes imploring him to expand on that statement and tell her the whole truth. With great effort, he forced himself to look deeply into her frightened eyes, for what he could only hope and pray was not the last time she would ever look at him.

"I know you don't remember, Bones. I know that. But I heard the gunshots start before I ever finished the..."

There wasn't a good way to put it, so for once he just spit it out in the most clear form possible. "...while I was still on top of you. I got off of you _right then_ , but by that time did it really matter? None of it mattered. Our cover was blown, maybe before I ever touched you."

She was searching his eyes , and he resisted the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake the truth into her. "Don't you get it, Bones? All of your nightmares, all of your fear of me, the way that you can't let me touch you? I might have done all that to you for _nothing._ I did all of that to _both_ of us for nothing. _"_ His eyes were more than a little wild, letting her see just how much damage that knowledge - and keeping it from her - had done to him.

Understanding dawned in her eyes at his emphasis of the words 'for nothing.'

"The hospital. That's what you were talking about when you said you ruined things for nothing."

Even after he had explained the rest of what she overheard in the hospital, that one phrase that he had never explained had continued to eat at her. If anything, she felt relief to finally know what he had meant. Suddenly, her clarity and her certainty were both back.

"Booth, even if that's true, which you have no way of knowing, you still did what you _thought_ you had to do. You had no way of knowing what was happening outside of the room. Based on the cameras and the lack of a way to free me from the shackle, your decision was a logical one. There is no need to blame yourself for anything. _I_ don't blame you for anything, Booth. I know that you wouldn't hurt me on purpose, or without a reason."

Booth just sat shaking his head back and forth, unable to allow her to absolve him of his guilt. "How can you say that, Bones? This entire thing is my fault, and we all know it. If I would have just..."

He trailed off at that pivotal moment, his head dropping to stare down between his feet.

Sweets had been waiting for that particular admission, and for that particular opening. Finally, they had reached what he believed to be the root of Booth's guilt about the whole situation. "How, Booth? Tell us why you feel that way."

Booth's clasped hands dangled between his widespread knees, where his elbows rested, and he watched his fingers twist back and forth as he addressed his words not to the man who had asked the question, but to the woman who most needed to hear the answer. "I've been dishonest with you for a long time, Bones. I knew how I felt about you, and I knew it for a long time. If I had had the guts to tell you I loved you, maybe none of this would have ever happened."

Brennan's eyes shot toward Sweets once again at Booth's extremely clear wording, before carefully going back over to Booth. "But Booth..."

"Maybe you wouldn't have gone at all. Or maybe I would have been with you. Either way, Bones, if we had already been together, this would have turned out so differently."

"Booth," Sweets cut in reasonably, "you know Dr. Brennan very well. Even if, hypothetically, the two of you had been married, who Dr. Brennan is would not change. She would still be a successful forensic anthropologist, and she would still remain quite committed to her career."

Brennan was all too swift to agree. "He's right, Booth. Had we been together, I would have still gone to Albania. And it is unlikely that you would have accompanied me. I doubt that Cullen would consider babysitting me to be a job for the FBI."

"Then I'd have taken vacation days, Bones." He was looking at her again. "You _know_ I would have. I wanted to anyway, even without us being together. I knew this trip was going to be dangerous."

"And I wouldn't have let you. You should take your vacation days with Parker," she pointed out reasonably. But he was in no mood for reason.

"It just would have been different, Bones, if I had been honest from the very beginning. For one thing, I'd have insisted that you stay in your room instead of going out where Tolka could get his hands on you. I was so busy in that damn meeting with Cullen that I didn't even think to tell you..."

"Booth," Sweets cut in again, "I spent a great deal of time working up a profile on Tolka. He didn't just randomly happen upon Dr. Brennan because she just happened to decide to go for a walk. He had already planned to take her, and would undoubtedly have approached her in her room had she not ventured outside. He simply capitalized on the opportunity. The situation could have been even more dangerous had he broken into her room. There would have been a struggle, and Dr. Brennan might have been gravely injured or killed. The point is that we can't know for certain what would have happened. Just as you couldn't have predicted what would come of the actions you did take, it's even more impossible to determine what would have happened had you acted differently."

Booth heaved a huge sigh. "But there's one thing I am certain of." He turned his eyes on Brennan. "Had I been honest with you before you ever left about the fact that I'm in love with you, and if we had been together - if we had made love, even one time - what happened in that room would have played out so differently. Would you still be so afraid of me? I don't think so, Bones. I think that the whole thing would have been completely different, because you would have had no reason to doubt my intentions. You'd have seen through what I was doing and known from personal experience that I wouldn't ever hurt you like that. Even if you couldn't have played along, you'd at least have known that I wouldn't hurt you like that. Maybe it would all be so different now."

She sat staring at him, unable to respond, trying to find a way to tell him she knew that about him anyway. But after a moment he dropped his head. "I'm sorry, Bones. I'm sorry for what happened, and I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you. I know you weren't suggesting what I accused you of on Friday. I don't know why I thought that you were. I'm sorry for not knowing that you needed time before we jump into anything, and I'm sorry for not trusting you. I didn't mean to _ever_ hurt you again, and that's what I did. You asked me for time, and that's what I'm going to give you. I hope that one day you can forgive me for everything - but mostly for not being honest with you a long time ago."

Her head was spinning, and tears were ready to fall down her cheeks. There was so much more she wanted to say to him, so many flaws in his reasoning that she needed to point out, but she couldn't bring herself to say any more in front of Sweets. The rest of this conversation was going to be theirs alone, and she needed time to plan what she wanted to say. This was not something that she intended to risk going about in the wrong way.

"I'm sorry, Sweets. I have to go." It was all she trusted her voice to say.

She looked somewhat desperate, and Sweets nodded his agreement, not wanting to push her too far. "It's all right, Dr. Brennan. We've made good progress for today. Perhaps we can meet again tomorrow?"

Her eyes turned to Booth, but he wasn't looking at her. "That's fine."

Quickly, she grabbed her coat and left the room. This time, Booth let her go.

… ooo … ooo … ooo

Booth didn't go home or back to his office when he left Sweets' office a few minutes later, after absently agreeing to meet with him again the next day, and - in the meantime - to write down some of his feelings about the meeting they had just finished. He might just as well have agreed to a deal with the devil, as much as he cared about what he was saying. He just needed to get out and have time to think.

A huge part of him wanted to chase Bones down and have an actual real, non-shouting, reasonably sane conversation with her for the first time in days - one, at least, that didn't involve a moderator. But if the look on her face when he sneaked a peek at her as she raced out of Sweets' office was any indication, she needed time to think just as badly as he did, and probably wouldn't appreciate him reprising his role as pseudo-stalker. He had just apologized for all of the controlling behavior, so it would probably be better not to go chasing after her if she wanted to be alone.

Although he wasn't entirely sure that he completely bought it as being the reason he had been unable to control his reactions recently, he truly had not realized just exactly how responsible he _did_ feel for everything until the words came out of his own mouth. Even so, for some reason it had come as quite a shock that Bones didn't hold him to blame for everything that had happened - or any of it, for that matter. He wasn't sure he entirely bought _that_ either. He had held her down beneath him, made her afraid of him and afraid in general, and then told her there had been no reason for it. She _had_ to blame him, at least a little bit.

On the other hand, he felt like a huge weight had lifted off of his shoulders after hearing her calm, rational reasoning about his timing in the rescue. He had been so busy kicking himself for not finding out sooner where Tolka had taken her, that he had never really thought about how it would have gone down if he had. But now that he was finally thinking about it, he had realized some things that even she probably hadn't thought about: and they sent shivers up and down his spine.

She was right; there was no denying it - not from a tactical standpoint, and not even from an emotional one. If he had seen through Tolka immediately and had made his way to the place she was being held, he would have had to choose from a few very bad options: either storming the building with no clue where to look for her - risking her life as well as his and Naji's - or waiting it out and becoming that slimeball club operator's best damn customer, making 'deal' after deal from the women they were offered until they finally prepared Bones and brought her in as one of the selections - which would have happened at the exact same time that it did in the first place; not one damn minute sooner.

And then Naji would have still purchased her, and things would have still turned out the same way, except he would have some other things to feel horribly guilty about. Because those same damn cameras would have still been there while he was keeping up his end of the 'bargain' with the wrong women he had to 'purchase' in the meantime.

He would always hate that Bones had to wait those extra hours not knowing how close he was to finding her, but maybe fate had just spared them both something worse. One simulated rape was bad enough - throw in a few more with other innocent women who had been fully drugged to be 'participative', and he'd be beyond help. Crazy as it sounded, he had loved Bones enough to do it to her so he could save her, even knowing it might make her hate him. He had said he'd do anything necessary to bring her home safe, and he meant it no matter what - but could she have forgiven him if that had been put even more to the test, and her rescue had come at the expense of others? Could he have forgiven _himself_ for not even having to stop to think about it?

She and Sweets were also right that he couldn't have stopped her from going to Albania, no matter what their relationship. It was just the way she was, and actually one of the reasons he loved her.

And, of course, Sweets was also right that Tolka would have been gunning for her either way. He still believed, though, that telling her the truth a long time ago might have changed things for the better in plenty of other ways. Nothing was going to convince him that, as more than just her partner, he wouldn't have been able to exert at least some influence over her security and safety precautions.

And, of course, there was the rest of it; he still thought that the actual 'attack' might have been less traumatic for her as well if she had known at the time that he loved her and just how much. Because if she had even half of an idea of just how much he loved her and what that meant, she'd sure as hell know that he wasn't even capable of maliciously hurting her. She had looked more than a little skeptical when he had advanced that theory in Sweets' office, but he was 100% convinced of it - if for no other reason than the fact that it allowed him to hold onto some of the guilt that had become such a comfortable companion. He wasn't entirely ready to absolve himself of all responsibility just yet, even if she was; not when she was still clearly suffering the effects of what he had done.

As he was thinking, he made his way from Sweets' office straight to his SUV, which he had just got back that morning after it had been repaired from his accident. While he was in the process of apologizing for his bad behavior, there was one other person to whom he definitely owed an apology. And he was going to get that out of the way immediately.

… ooo … ooo …

Somehow, Brennan's feet took complete control of her body, and she ended up allowing them to carry her straight from one office in the Hoover building into another one. Much though she wanted time to plan out what to say, she couldn't leave the building without at least seeing Booth and scheduling a time to speak to him. If nothing else, she at least owed him an explanation for...well, for a couple of things that had happened in that office - starting with her hand.

Although she normally might not have thought twice about flouncing right around behind his desk to _his_ chair and sitting in it, she made a conscious decision to stay on the visitor side of his desk this time, taking one of the other chairs.

Her last several encounters with Booth had been much like being yelled at by a stranger who just happened to look (and smell) just like him. Overall, she was feeling a little hesitant where he was concerned, in every way. It was an odd feeling for her, but not one that she intended to fight - not yet, at least. She had spent much of the weekend trying to figure out what was wrong with him, which had been an exercise in futility. She had spent the rest of it suffering the worst flashbacks and nightmares she had yet experienced. While the nightclub and her experience there certainly hadn't helped, the fact that Booth was the aggressor in more and more of those nightmares made her quite certain that there was more to it than just the events outside the nightclub.

Of course, Angela had been there for the first half of the weekend and had received an eyeful as well as an earful of the worst of it, before Brennan finally got tired of hearing Angela's opinions on the topic and insisted that she go home. The fact that she had barely slept for the rest of the weekend had apparently been written all over her face when she arrived at the office that morning, and had led to a repeat of the same conversation, ending with angry words between her and Angela...

It was a strange feeling, having every part of her limited support network at odds with her. Angela's angry words from that very morning washed over her once again.

 _"When are you going to talk to somebody, Brennan?"_

 _"I'm fine, Angela."_

 _"Obviously. When's the last time you slept?"_

 _"I was experiencing a throbbing sensation in my injured..."_

 _"No, you were awake screaming Booth's name all night long - and not in a good way. It's not getting better, Bren. It's getting worse, and you need to talk to somebody. Please, just let me call Sweets - or Dr. Wyatt. Or somebody completely different. I'll even go with you."_

 _"I assure you, Angela, it's completely unnecessary."_

 _"Right. And as long as Booth keeps avoiding you just as much as you're avoiding him, it'll keep being unnecessary. But what the hell are you going to do when Booth shows up with a case - or God forbid, wants to talk about the huge elephant in the room between the two of you?"_

 _"In answer to your first question, I should imagine that I will go to the crime scene with him, do my job, and solve the case. You are the one, after all, who suggested that I give Booth some space personally. And as for your second question, it makes...no sense at all."_

 _"You know exactly what I mean. What's the plan, Brennan? About Booth. Do you honestly intend to spend all night every night being afraid of him when he's not there, and then all day pretending not to be when he_ is _there? How long do you think you can keep that up? He'll know the first minute he sees you."_

 _"You're overreacting, Angela. In fact, Booth and I have an appointment with Sweets this afternoon..."_

… ooo … ooo …

A little more than an hour after Brennan had left for her session with Dr. Sweets, a soft knock sounded on the door of Angela's office. She turned to see one of the last people she expected.

"Booth!" She actually sounded a little bit glad to see him, which he really hadn't expected, before her expression completely changed and she crossed her arms. "If you're here looking for Brennan, I'm going to kill her."

His mouth had already opened to start his apology, and Angela's statement threw him a little off balance.

"I beg your pardon?"

"She's supposed to be with you, in therapy, right now. If she's anywhere else, you're going to get to save her again, because I fully intend to strangle her."

His eyes narrowed. His something's-wrong-with-Bones antennae were on the alert instantly, his apology forgotten. "What's going on, Angela?"

Angela sighed, wishing she hadn't brought it up, remembering how on-edge he had been recently and not wanting to set him off again. Booth throwing Brennan over his shoulder and dragging her to therapy would probably not help matters. Brennan knocking him into the middle of next week for putting his hands on her again probably wouldn't help, either.

With a dismissive wave of her arm, she turned her back to him, going back to what she had been doing. "Nothing, Booth. Really. I didn't mean to scare you. Just Brennan being stubborn. She's not exactly speaking to me right now. What can I help you with?"

He hesitated just another moment, not sure what to do. His gut told him there was more to it than that, but he was really trying not to overreact again like he had been doing. "She's okay, right?"

After a moment, Angela nodded. "Yeah, Booth. She's fine. Did you need to talk to her?"

The fact that Angela had hesitated just as obviously as he had wasn't exactly calming, but he had just seen Bones less than an hour before so he knew she was okay, at least physically - well, other than her hand; and she had looked more than a little tired...

He needed to just do what he had come there to do and get out before he could do anything else that he'd be apologizing for later.

Clearing his throat, he stepped around to put himself in her field of vision. "No, actually I'm here to see you."

The artist managed to look delighted, abandoning her work and throwing him a mockingly flirtatious grin accompanied by her full attention. "Me? Mmm, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

It was a wonderful little bit of normalcy that made him smile. So maybe it was a little egotistical, but he had always enjoyed Angela's obvious appreciation of him. "I wanted to apologize, for the other night at the diner. You didn't deserve me yelling at you, and I'm sorry. You've been a good friend to Bones - to both of us. I was out of line."

She nodded her head in acceptance, a light smile on her face, but her words were serious. "I knew there was a reason I adore you, Booth. Apology accepted. But I think maybe you're apologizing to the wrong girl."

"No, I know. Don't worry. I already apologized to Bones." For just a second, he was almost overcome with the urge to confront Angela about what had happened to Bones' hand, but he thought better of it. _'Just stick to the plan.'_

"I gotta get back. See you later, Ange."

Angela watched him walk all the way to the door, wrestling with herself over what she was about to do. On the one hand, Booth needed help as bad as Brennan did. On the other hand, he seemed like he had at least somewhat straightened himself out, and it wasn't as though there was exactly an abundance of people who could get through Brennan's hard head and get her to listen. And he had, after all, apologized and seemed to be thinking clearly...for the moment at least.

Her decision made, she took a step toward the door. "Booth, wait!"

At the exact same moment, Booth had stopped, whirling back around to face her. "Angela, listen..."

Both of them paused, a nervous laugh coming out of Angela's mouth. "You first, G-man."

He still wasn't sure if the new, improved, non-scary Booth that he was trying to remember how to be should really be going behind Bones' back, but it was going to eat at him until he knew. "What happened to her hand? She wouldn't tell me, but I saw the cast."

Angela nodded, her own decision made. "Yeah. We can start there. I didn't exactly tell you the truth a minute ago, Booth. She's not fine."

… ooo … ooo …

After 30 minutes of sitting in front of Booth's desk waiting for him, Brennan had at least a mental outline of what she wanted to say to him, and a basic plan for how she wanted the evening to go. After she had arrived at a conclusion of how she wished to proceed, she quickly became restless waiting there with nothing to do. Clearly, he was not coming back to his office anytime soon. Just in case, however, she quickly found a sticky note and a pen, and left him a note on his desk.

 _'Booth,_

 _Please call me when you get in. I need to talk to you._

 _-Brennan'_

Walking briskly to her car, she noticed that his SUV was now missing from the place where she had seen it parked on her way into the building earlier. She had not been aware that it had been repaired and he had it back after his accident. Perhaps it was irrational, but seeing it had made her feel somewhat better. It was just _normal_ , and she seemed to be desperate for that recently - even for little things like him driving the right vehicle, which logically should not make any difference.

Getting into her car, she started it up and made her way out of the parking structure, intent on her destination.

… ooo … ooo …

A familiar stab of worry shot through Booth at Angela's words, his eyes taking on an intense look as he directed all of his attention on her, instantly focused. Those dark eyes focused so hard on her almost made her shiver, but not out of fear. The amount of devotion this man held for her best friend never failed to leave her a little breathless. If he was this intense and focused about just protecting the woman he loved...wow, what would _everything else_ be like?

 _'Snap out of it, Angela...'_ she shook herself from her brief vicarious thrill.

"You're not going to like it, Booth. I can tell you that right now. We were dancing, and some guy wanted to dance with Bren."

To her complete and total lack of surprise, Booth's jaw tensed and that little muscle there started jumping immediately.

"The guy was drunk. He didn't do anything all that terrible, but he came up from behind her and she didn't see him coming. He put his hands on her waist. He just wanted to dance with her, Booth. That's all."

It was exactly what he had been afraid of in the diner, and he could feel himself turning red from his chest up, suddenly needing to loosen his tie as he got hotter with anger by the moment, barely keeping it in check. "And?"

"And she almost broke his arm."

"Damn."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, questioning his disappointed response, and he gave a tight shrug of one shoulder. "I wish she had done more than _almost_."

Angela rolled her eyes, attempting to calm Booth back down. She could see the effort it was costing him to keep from going completely off the deep end, and she had to give him credit for trying. She was fairly certain that a few nights ago, his hand would have been in a matching cast to Brennan's after hearing this, and Cam would be putting in a work order to have the wall repaired. It obviously wasn't easy for him, but it was certainly a change for the better from the last time she had seen him. "Easy, there, big guy. She definitely overreacted. I got her to let go of him, but he was full of liquid pride. He turned around and lunged at her, and she flattened him."

"The guy tried to _hit_ her?" Booth looked absolutely furious.

"And she _flattened_ him," Angela reminded him, before he could start interrogating her for a description of the poor guy, which she was pretty sure was going to be his next move.

Booth narrowed his eyes. "That's bullshit. I saw her hand, Angela, and Bones knows how to hit somebody. Believe me, I know."

Angela smirked a little, remembering just exactly _how_ Booth knew. She'd never forget the sight of Bren's fist flying into his jaw in that cemetery. "You're lucky you didn't get a refresher on that in the diner the other day."

"Yeah, that's great. Don't change the subject. My point is that she didn't do all of that just by punching some handsy bastard one time." A horrible thought hit him, and he started to lose color in his face. "Angela, I'm trying really hard to stay calm here, but if you're about to tell me that anybody else put their hands on her after that, so help me God I'm not responsible for..."

"Breathe, Booth. She punched a brick wall."

" _What?_ Why?"

"Like I said, you're not going to like it. She was a little out of it after she knocked that guy down. I got her out of there, but two steps out the door she lost it and had another one of those flashbacks. I think she almost took _me_ out, but at the last second she turned around and tried to put a hole through the brick wall. It was the worst one I've seen, Booth - well, up to that point anyway."

He didn't miss the qualifier on her last sentence, and his head inclined sharply toward her. "Up to that point?"

"The rest of that night was hell. I'm not even sure I should tell you this."

Staying calm was a long forgotten goal. "You're _going_ to tell me," he growled, but Angela had already seen enough to know that at least some semblance of the old Booth was back, at least temporarily, so she wasn't really too worried.

"She couldn't go an hour without a nightmare, and even when she was awake every little thing triggered more flashbacks. Bad ones. And..."

He could see from a mile away that she was about to sugarcoat. "Tell me everything, Angela."

"Sorry, Booth, but she's back to having the kind where you're the bad guy. I kept trying to talk to her about it, but she just got mad and sent me home late Saturday night. But I can still tell you exactly what happened all day Sunday - more of the same. She looked like hell this morning. I'd bet you a pair of brand new Manolo Blahniks that she hasn't slept since I've left, or if she did she woke up screaming."

Booth looked more than a little lost. "You did the right thing, Angela. Thank you for telling me."

"Hey, Booth, listen..." She wanted to soften the blow, but there wasn't really any way to do that, which became obvious when she couldn't think of another word to say.

He understood anyway. "It's all right. I'll be okay, Angela. I needed to know."

Before he could turn away, Angela grabbed him and hugged him tight. "Take care of yourself, Booth. I'm worried about you, too."

He managed a small smile as he pulled away. "Yeah, I know." And to set her at ease, he admitted something he hadn't really intended to. "I'm talking to Sweets. I never thought I'd say it, but I think he might actually know about more than Star Wars and video games. But don't tell him I said that."

Realizing it wasn't probably the easiest admission for him to make, her answer had a double meaning. "Your secret's safe with me, G-man."

… ooo … ooo …

Believing that Bones was, undoubtedly, holed up in her office and intending to stay there for quite some time, Booth gave her office a wide berth on his way out of the Jeffersonian. After talking with Angela, there was no way in hell that he wasn't going to be approaching her and soon, but he really needed time to figure out what to do first.

It was more than a little jarring to hear that her nightmares about him had grown worse, although after watching him rant and rave and grab at her over and over, he couldn't say that it was so very surprising. What, exactly, had he expected when he had practically been foaming at the mouth and acting like something out of a bad stalker movie the last few times he had seen her - not that she owned a TV or had ever _seen_ a bad stalker movie. He was back on the rollercoaster ride, brought firmly back down from the temporary high he had felt at hearing some of her rebuttals to his guilt. Maybe she really didn't blame him, but she was sure as hell still terrified of him, at least the him that she saw in her dreams. He'd rather have her completely back to normal and flashback free, hating him for what he had done - at least that way he'd be the only one suffering.

He drove around for almost an hour before driving toward her apartment. He still had no more idea what he was going to do than he had when he had left Angela's office, but there was one thing he had decided he was doing immediately. After what Angela had told him Bones was going through, he wasn't going to sleep if he didn't check on her. Her car wasn't there, which meant the only other place she could be was the Jeffersonian. It stood to reason that if she couldn't sleep, she'd decide to work all night.

Going by her apartment on his way home to check on her was one thing. He needed a better strategy if he intended to pop into the Jeffersonian at that time of night, or she'd be defensive instantly. He drove back to his apartment instead, but rather than going inside he soon found himself going for a walk down the sidewalk as he tried to sort everything out. He walked until he could barely feel his feet from the cold air, and then turned around and walked back. Still unable to bring himself to go inside and not having reached any kind of conclusion, he kept going and started walking the other way, still lost in thought. It was almost a half hour later when he eventually got back to his building, finally giving in to the cold and deciding to go inside while he figured out what to do. He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice her car, parked near the back of the lot outside his building as he passed it.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

As Booth turned the corner into the hallway leading to his door, his exhaustion was forgotten instantly when he saw the form sitting on the ground just outside it. Every sense went on alert, his hand immediately going to hover near his gun for the split second that it took to recognize who it was.

And then he couldn't get to the door fast enough.

"Bones!"

She had lost track of how long she had been waiting for him, but at some point she had decided that he had to come home eventually. She could have found a way into his apartment easily enough, but somehow it just didn't seem like the right thing to do. And so she had long since sat down on the ground crosslegged, cradling her injured hand in her good one, leaning against his door. She saw him before he ever saw her, watching the way he immediately went for his gun before relaxing as he recognized her.

That moment of relaxation was extremely brief, however, as he quickly became consumed with why she had come to him, automatically assuming the worst. He was moving toward her at a rapid pace.

"Bones! Are you all right? What are you doing here?"

She had already pushed herself to her feet before he got there; he pulled up short just a couple steps from her, eyes running all over her in concern.

The very first decision she had made after leaving Sweets' office was that the first thing she was going to do was tell him what had happened to her hand, and she didn't allow his questions to throw her off of that plan. She still didn't understand why it was so important to him to know, or why he had apparently taken her reticence to tell him as an indication that she no longer had feelings for him. It made no sense at all, from a logical standpoint.

But she also hadn't forgotten that look on his face, and it made her want to tell him the moment she saw him.

"I punched a wall."

His mouth opened, confusion crossing his features. He had been focused on what horrible thing could have happened to her to send her to his door for help. That response was the last thing he had expected.

"What? Just now?"

By way of explanation, she simply held up her cast. "At the club. I became disoriented outside, experienced a flashback and struck the wall. I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you in front of Sweets."

Booth sighed, closing his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was give her another reason not to trust him or to think that he was still trying to control her, but he was done - _done_ \- with keeping things from her. He was still pretty damn sure that keeping things from her was what got him into the original mess, and then the mess he had created the past few days, and every other mess in recent memory. He might make some more mistakes, but he was sure as hell finished making _that_ one. Opening his eyes, he fixed them right on her.

"I know, Bones. Angela told me. I didn't go to see her with the intention of asking - I really didn't. I went there to apologize for what happened at the diner. But I just - I was worried about you. If I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry."

She accepted that explanation more easily than he thought she would, with a tiny smile, leading him to breathe a sigh of relief. "It's all right. I owe you and Angela both an apology, as well. She wanted to call you when it happened. I should have let her."

Booth blinked, his heartrate speeding up a little. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had decided on total honesty. "May I ask why you didn't?"

Her gaze dropped to the floor for only a moment before raising back to his. "I was angry. I didn't understand why you had reacted the way you did. Angela said that neglecting to tell you would hurt you." She looked embarrassed but determined. "I think perhaps that's what I wanted, at the time. It was childish, Booth."

He had thought she could no longer surprise him, but the raw honesty in that response did just that. "I get it, Bones. I had hurt you. I'm not angry with you."

Her eyes flicked toward his door, and then back to him. "May I come in?"

There was a pause while he sucked in a surprised breath, and before he could respond she blew him away again.

"Please?"

… ooo … ooo …

That shy, hesitant 'please' - as though she thought he might actually say _no_ \- made Booth want to groan. Just exactly how badly had he screwed things up between them with all of his ranting the past few times they saw each other? If there was any doubt in her mind that his answer was going to be anything other than _"God, yes,"_ then obviously the answer to his own question was pretty damn bad.

He didn't hesitate for even another second. "Yes - Bones, of course. I..." In his haste to open the door in the midst of his stuttering, he dropped his keys. He immediately bent to one knee to retrieve them, but just as he grabbed for them he felt an unexpected pressure on his sleeve. Looking up in surprise, he found himself eye to eye with her - she had automatically moved forward, kneeling to retrieve the dropped keys as well, a spontaneous reaction that emphasized the nervousness they both felt. When she had moved to grab the keys with her good hand, she had instead grabbed a handful of his coat sleeve as he reached out his own arm to retrieve the fallen keys.

They both froze for just a moment, suddenly unsure. It was she who finally broke the standoff and the eye contact first, as she looked down to frown at the portion of his coat that she still grasped in her hand. Rubbing the fabric between her fingers, she looked back up at him as she spoke.

"Why are you so cold, Booth?"

What she did next was so typical of her that he normally wouldn't have given it a second thought. It was Bones, after all - if she was curious about something, she went looking for answers. It shouldn't have really come as a surprise. But when her fingers let go of his coat sleeve and she reached up to touch his face, seeking skin to tell her if he was truly as cold as his coat told her he was, the only thing his mind was screaming was what Angela had told him about Bones' nightmares of him growing worse. Since that conversation, everything in him was programmed solidly into 'don't touch Bones' mode, even more than it had been previously. His mind didn't immediately draw the distinction between him touching her and her touching him, and without even realizing it he flinched at the contact and pulled his face slightly away.

She, in turn, pulled her fingers back instantly, as though his skin had burned her. Her eyes grew wide, her face confused. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean…"

"No! It's okay..." He reached his own hand out just an inch from her withdrawn hand, stopping just before he grabbed it. He cringed as he watched her straighten up and stand there uncertainly looking down at him. Thinking for one terrible moment that she was going to leave, he didn't move from where he still crouched. "I just - I've been out walking, that's all - for a while now. You're right, Bones, I'm freezing. I just didn't expect...you know what? It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong."

She seemed to accept that, even as she shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Her eyes turned and glanced at his door again before looking back at him, the obvious question galvanizing him into action.

Booth cleared his throat as he rose back to his full height and turned to unlock the door, even more nervous than he had been a few moments before.

"Let's just start this over, okay?" he asked softly over his shoulder, not daring to turn and look at her. Half of him was afraid that if he did look, he'd see only her back - running down the hallway away from him. "Of course you can come in, Bones. You're always welcome here. I just - jeez, are you kidding? Of _course_ you can come in."

 _Stop. Babbling. Now._ he lectured himself, as he managed to finally fit the key in the lock and get his door open.

Another awkward moment ensued as he stood holding the door open, before he finally motioned for her to precede him into the apartment. She didn't exactly look at him as she scooted past him inside, and he found himself tensing and holding his breath as she went past. His eyes slipped shut at the realization of how awkwardly they were both acting, as he watched her stop several steps before she reached his couch and stare around his apartment like she had never seen it before.

 _This has got to stop,_ he realized. _We're tiptoeing around one another._

"Bones..."

"Booth..."

They had, of course, spoken at the same moment as she whirled around to face him, which shouldn't have really come as a surprise to him.

Ordinarily, he might have insisted that she go first, but if there was one thing he was certain of it was that they had to stop being so unsure of one another. And since, he decided, that was primarily his fault, he was going to have to take the lead if he wanted to change it. "Have a seat, Bones," he motioned toward his couch. "You know your way around, so make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything to drink?"

She moved to his couch and sat primly on the far right, her back straight and not leaning back against the cushion, hands clasped in her lap as she watched him remove his coat and put it away. She had still made no move to remove her own coat. "No thank you," she answered politely, and he wanted to put his head through the wall. She had been so honest and forthright in the hallway, but he had seen the hesitancy even then, before he had jumped away from her. She clearly wasn't sure how he was going to react to her, and he had no one but himself to blame for that. And he was just making it worse by the minute.

He intentionally sat on the couch with her, but more toward the left side of the couch. He left more space between them than he had left in years, but still tried to aim for casual. "How long have you been here waiting? You should have called me."

If anything, her back only grew straighter. "I apologize for coming unannounced. Is this a bad time?"

"No, I meant..." Booth paused, frustration building in him. "Bones, I just meant that I'm sorry you had to wait. If you had called me, I'd have come home the minute you called. I'm _glad_ you're here. I didn't mean..."

With a huge sigh, he gave up trying to dig his way out of an already deep hole, and instead tried to smile sheepishly at her with a self-deprecating shrug. She gave a small nod and tiny answering smile as she relaxed somewhat, showing that she did, in some way, understand. Under other circumstances, he might have recognized in that action that she was having the same problem he was - feeling like everything she said and did was wrong.

But instead, in that tiny, tired smile, what he suddenly really _saw_ were the deep, dark circles under her eyes. Everything Angela had told him slammed back into his mind with all the force of a bullet slamming into his chest. Suddenly he didn't even care what she was there to say. There was something else they were going to talk about first.

"When's the last time you slept, Bones?"

She hadn't expected that, and surprised eyes turned toward him.

But he had already decided that 'tell her _every_ thing _'_ was going to be his new policy, so by way of explanation he went ahead and laid down his cards before she could launch into whatever she had come to say - which, quite honestly, he was more than a little nervous to hear anyway. "I know about this weekend. When she told me about your hand, Angela also told me about the flashbacks and nightmares you had afterward. She's worried about you. I'm worried about you too, Bones. She said they're getting worse."

In reaction to his honesty, she actually relaxed a little bit more. His reaction in the hallway to her fingers brushing his face had thrown her completely off balance, not knowing what to expect from him. It was too harsh of a reminder of the unpredictable way he had been acting recently. At least this Booth was one she recognized quite well, though perhaps a little more plainspoken.

"I'm all right, Booth. It seems I was simply unprepared for the atmosphere inside the club Angela took to me. Someone approached me, and I...overreacted."

"It scared you." His eyes said that he understood completely what she didn't even understand herself, and that look drew her in. "It was too much like when Tolka took you, even though it wasn't really anything like that."

"Yes," she whispered simply, her eyes locked on his, some of her walls falling in the face of his understanding and her exhaustion - reminding him that underneath all of the confusion and misunderstandings between them, they both, by admission, wanted the same thing. She had told him she loved him, and had never taken it back. And that meant that on some level, she _wanted_ to let him in. They just kept hitting all of the roadblocks the entire situation had thrown in their path.

Booth again found his common sense wrestling with the overwhelming urge to reach out and stroke her cheek when she looked at him like that - like she would love nothing more than to curl up in his arms and draw from his strength - but he clenched his fists and kept his hands on the couch.

The warning in his mind not to touch her inevitably led to thoughts of why he couldn't, which inevitably led to his newest constant companion: guilt. His throat worked as his eyes dropped a moment later, studying the space between them. "Are you sure it was just the club that made things worse this weekend?"

He looked up into curious eyes, and no matter how much he didn't even want to say it, he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Angela said most of your nightmares this weekend were...that they were about me."

That particular admission seemed to make her as uncomfortable as it did him. "Booth...Angela shouldn't have told you that."

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep eye contact when all he wanted to do was hide. "It seemed like they were getting better, Bones: like you weren't having them as much. I'm wondering if I'm the one that made it worse again. The way I treated you - yelling at you. And grabbing you." His face was flaming by the time he finished, but he was determined to take responsibility if it was his fault.

When she sighed, she looked almost as frustrated as he had felt a few minutes before, when she misinterpreted his statement about calling before she came. "Booth, you have to stop blaming yourself for everything."

It wasn't as though he really wanted to argue with her, but the words just kept spilling out.

"I'm just following the evidence, Bones. I grabbed you in the diner and you threatened to break my arm - and I wouldn't have blamed you if you had, after the way I had already treated you. But I can't help but notice that two hours after I grabbed you, scared you enough to make you threaten me, you end up in a cast because you suddenly have another flashback when some other guy grabs you. Then you spend the whole weekend dreaming about me hurting you?" He couldn't stay there looking into those blue eyes that refused to blame him, and he pushed up off of the couch and paced a few steps away, stopping with his back turned toward her. "It _is_ my fault, Bones. Any way you look at it, it's my fault. All of this is. You can't even _sleep_ because of me."

Only a beat passed, before he heard a suddenly calm voice. "That is part of what I came to talk to you about, Booth. There are multiple flaws in your reasoning."

He turned to face her, his look one of sad affection. Only Bones could turn this into a logic problem. "I don't think even you can logic me out of this one, Bones," he said ruefully. He was finally realizing just how insurmountable the problem between them seemed to be, and it caused him to be even more honest than he intended. "You're subconsciously terrified of me, and I don't have the first damn clue how to fix it. And every time I try, I just keep making it worse."

"Booth, you just said that you had thought I was getting better," she began, ignoring his statement. "Correct?"

He signed, resigned to having to spell it all out - all of his crimes. "You know you were, Bones. That whole night I spent in your apartment, you didn't have a single nightmare or flashback. And then I start yelling and grabbing you, and suddenly they're back."

She shook her head emphatically. "Booth, that night you stayed with me was the _only_ night I haven't had them."

He focused hard on her, not sure where she was going but wanting to understand her correctly. The last thing they needed was another misunderstanding. "What are you saying, Bones?"

She was already moving on to the next point. "In fact, it was you who had one that night, and you admit to there being others. When's the last time _you_ slept without a nightmare, Booth?"

In truth, he didn't have to think about it for as long as it took him to eventually answer her question. He knew the answer full well almost immediately - he just hadn't looked at it exactly that way before. Suddenly, he knew where she was heading with this line of questioning. It was a place that he very much wanted to go, and yet at the same time terrified him.

He knew that the circles under his own eyes were probably equal to if not worse than the ones under hers. After the first time that Parker had come into his room that Friday night wanting to know why he was yelling, he had barely allowed himself to sleep, and had never reached a deep sleep again during his son's visit. Sunday night after Parker left, when he finally crashed, he lost count of how many times he woke up drenched in a cold sweat. The terrifying images varied - everything from him not being able to find her, to her running in fear of him, and even horrifying dreams where he would find himself standing over her realizing that he had done something terrible to her and couldn't figure out why - but all of them revolved around her.

Finally realizing that he had waited quite a long time without answering, he decided to man up. If she wanted to know the last time he'd been able to sleep without waking up screaming, he'd tell her. "That same night. At your apartment, after you joined me. I slept the rest of the night without one."

Standing from the couch, she walked toward him. Her heartrate was reaching an alarming level, but this was part of what she had been wanting to discuss with him ever since that horrible night she had spent in her office when she had been too tired to have dinner with him, wishing every time she woke up in terror that she could be with Booth again the way she had been the night before. She wasn't backing down now, alarmingly fast heartrate or not.

"Your conclusion about the cause of my most recent nightmares depends upon an erroneous assumption. They did not begin again _after_ we began to argue. They began again before that. Specifically, they began again the night I spent in my office after I canceled our lunch and dinner plans. The very next night that I spent without _you. Before_ we ever argued. _"_

Booth inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. He had suspected where she might be going with this, but he hadn't expected her to be quite so straightforward about it. It also bothered him more than a little that while he had been sulking in his apartment about having to eat a couple of meals alone, she had been passing a hard night alone in her office, needing him, maybe even calling out for him. And he hadn't been there. She had mentioned to him that she had been doing Internet research that night while she couldn't sleep - research that had led her to believe they should break up. But he had never gotten far enough past the breaking up part to wonder about the reason _why_ she hadn't been able to sleep.

"Jesus. Bones..."

She was standing quite close to him, her eyes calm as she relied on the familiarity of logic. "Although one night is not enough evidence to arrive at a definitive conclusion that the frequency of the nightmares lessens with proximity to each other, I must admit that that is the theory I formed. Had you been able to come to lunch the next day, I intended to suggest that perhaps..."

For the first time since she had begun rebutting his assertions that he was to blame, her straightforward manner faltered and she trailed off and looked away. Booth's breath caught in his throat, becoming so shallow that he wondered if he might actually get lightheaded and pass out. But damn if he was doing it before he found out what she had intended to suggest that actually had Temperance Brennan looking so suddenly unsure of herself, when she had been the picture of calm next to his storm a moment before.

"Perhaps what?" he asked shakily, his heartrate only increasing when she suddenly began to fidget and looked downright _girlish_ in the process. But she still wasn't answering him. "C'mon, Bones. You're killing me here."

Her firm resolve had fled her at the realization that she had absolutely no idea how to word what was, for her, the type of proposition she had never considered herself the type of woman to make.

"That perhaps I could come and spend the night here with you that to test that theory. That maybe we could...sit together again. Like the way we slept on my couch."

She didn't look at him until she finished, and even then she was looking up at him through slightly lowered lids with her head tilted down a little bit, as though she wanted to watch him without him seeing her looking. If he hadn't been so concerned with willing his heart to start beating again, he would have sworn that she was holding her breath. He knew the feeling, but he wasn't much help at the moment. He was in the middle of his own crisis.

On the one hand, no matter what else happened, his life was now complete. Temperance Brennan had just stood there and expressed that she had - or at least had _had -_ a desire to _cuddle_ with him. Okay, so maybe she'd punch him in the stomach if he worded it that way, but even the awkward way she had worded it left no room for doubt. She had wanted to go to sleep again with him holding her. She had wanted him to protect her from the nightmares.

 _Jesus._

Of course, on the other hand, he was truly screwed if she was about to ask him for that now, because he was in an impossible position. Telling her no was unthinkable, but there was no way in hell he could allow it to happen either...he had _promised_ himself he wasn't taking that kind of chance again.

She was waiting for a reply, and he had to give one. He would _love_ to give one, but he had never been at such a loss in his life.

 _Total honesty,_ he reminded himself, forcing himself to speak. She hadn't said anything about the present time. She had been talking about _that_ night - before he had stormed in and flipped his lid. She might not even want that anymore. He needed to be so careful...

"Bones...God, Bones, we wanted the same thing. That was exactly what I hoped for when I made us dinner the night before. But I'm a little lost here. When I came to see you later that day, you're the one that said maybe we shouldn't do this right now. How did...what changed?"

She licked her lips nervously, drawing his eyes to that action. "I believe that I may have spoken without fully thinking through my decision. Everything I read the night before seemed to indicate that this would be an inadvisable time to begin a new relationship. As I told you that night, Booth, I didn't want to believe it. I didn't plan to even mention it."

He read between the lines. "But then I came in the door yelling at you for no reason, and you panicked. I made you doubt yourself."

The fact that she was still so unwilling to let him take all the responsibility made him want to either hug her or kick himself - or both. "Booth, I'm well aware that I'm not good at relationships. Human interaction has never been one of my strengths, especially when it comes to..."

"Bones." For the first time since they had begun talking, there was an assertive tone to his voice. "Stop right there and listen to me. I know who and what you are, and you're wrong. You have a bigger heart than anybody I've ever met. And as far as the rest of it, I don't expect you to be anything you're not. I _know_ it didn't seem like it that night when I burst into the Jeffersonian, and I wish there was some way to make you understand how sorry I am for that- that I made you feel like you did something wrong just by being you, like you weren't enough for me. You _are._ I fell in love with you just the way you are, and that's all I need. I don't want you to change, because..." He paused, and drew a shaky breath. "Temperance, because who you are is so damn _perfect_ to me that sometimes I can't even breathe around you."

He watched her eyes grow wide as they locked onto him, searching his face as though it held the mysteries of the universe. It was perfectly clear that no one other than him had ever said such things to her, and that she couldn't bring herself to trust it. That look clutched at his heart. How in the hell had nobody ever made her understand before how priceless she was? He had to resist the urge to take her by the shoulders, settling instead for taking a small step closer to her and lowering his voice to just above a whisper.

"But I just can't help it. It's _you_ I want, Bones - just you. Who you are, just the way you are. That's all I've ever wanted. If you're willing to give me another chance, all I need is for you to just be you, like you've always been, without worrying about doing anything different just because we put a new label on things. I just. Want. _You._ And it's no excuse, but that's why I get a little crazy when I hear you imply that changing our relationship doesn't mean anything other than sex. Yes, I'm a guy, and yes, I've wanted you for as long as I can remember. More than you know. But it's so much more than that, Bones. _So_ much more. Because I want your perfect heart even more than I want your perfect body. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Her eyes were still wide, and he had watched with fascination through the last part of his speech as those wide eyes became just a little teary, thinking that maybe for the first time it was truly sinking in. She took a step closer to him, closing the already small gap. Her body language told him that she got it, even as her mind continued to protest, not quite able to let go of the physical aspect.

"But Booth, I don't know when or how long - I can't promise you anything. What if..."

"I don't care about that, Bones," he cut her off, his tone low and deadly serious. "Do you hear me? I. Don't. Care."

Blue eyes locked hard on brown as she searched his for any hint of anything that could cause doubt, and time stood still for a long moment as she made her decision. He didn't even dare breathe, much less blink. And then something happened that he had seriously questioned whether he would ever experience again.

It almost knocked the breath out of him when her full weight hit him square in the chest, her arms instantly wrapping around him and hugging him fiercely. It took less than a second for him to respond.

"Bones..." he whispered her name almost like a prayer, wrapping his own arms tightly around her with the full knowledge that he was going to have a damn hard time ever letting go again. "God, baby."

She didn't even question the endearment he had breathed. Her face was buried in his neck, and his burrowed into her hair as she pushed closer. He held her close, the two of them clinging to one another in the comforting embrace they had both so desperately been needing. It had been way too long for him since the last time he held her - and too long for her since she had been able to seek comfort from the one other person who had been through the whole thing with her; because even when he hadn't been there with her in Albania, he had still been there with her. And she had wanted - needed - this from him.

"I'm here, Bones." The words were spilling from his lips unbidden as he realized she was trembling, not caring that maybe it was because he was trembling hard enough to shake them both. "I'm so sorry about everything. It'll be different this time. It's gonna be so different, Bones. I promise."

She gave herself fully over to his embrace, exhaustion and longing taking over and limiting any reluctance she might have felt. It defied logic that she felt safe for the first time in days, especially considering that it was his face that caused her so much torment in her nightmares. But she was past caring when she felt his strong arms and hands rubbing up and down her back as he held her against his chest, allowing her to let go for the first time in recent memory.

… ooo … ooo …

He wasn't sure how much time passed. Certainly not long enough. But as his brain started to function again, Booth held her just a little tighter in pure rejection of the words he knew were about to come out of his mouth.

He wanted nothing more than to just lose himself in that moment, accept the second chance she was clearly willing to give him, and never look back. The selfish part of him was screaming at him not to do it: that he was a damn fool. He had, right there in his arms for the second time in a week, everything he had ever wanted. He had already lost her once. So why was he even considering what he was about to say?

The rest of him - the part that wanted to do this the _right_ way - knew the answer to that question: because he _had_ already lost her once. He couldn't take the chance. Losing her again would kill him.

Pulling back slightly from her, he looked into her eyes, seeing nothing but decisiveness and commitment there. It floored him to the point that he almost changed his mind about what he was ready to say - almost.

He allowed himself a small smile, finally reaching up to briefly touch her cheek before letting her go. Unwilling to completely break contact, he caught one of her hands in his as he did so. "We need to talk Bones."

She nodded, allowing him to lead her back to the couch, where he guided her to sit. Rather than taking a seat on the couch with her, he instead sat on the coffee table facing her, never even thinking about letting go of her hand. His other hand found its way over as well and slipped beneath the hand he held, gently sandwiching her smaller one between his two larger ones, his thumbs absently caressing her wrist and palm as he spoke.

"I can't even believe I'm going to say this, Bones." Honesty had worked so far. He could only hope it wouldn't fail him now. "I don't _want_ to say it. I know I was furious when _you_ said it. But I think you may have been right. I read the same thing over and over myself when I did my research, and I ignored it too. But what if maybe all of the literature is right and we should wait to redefine things?"

She responded to his suggestion of waiting much more calmly than he had responded to hers, but he still saw the flicker of betrayal there despite her shaky smile and brave answer. "It's just psychology, Booth. I hate psychology. I simply overreacted."

With great care, he lifted his hands, bringing hers up to his lips where he planted a tender kiss on the back of it. "Please don't look at me like that, Bones," he whispered. "Don't misunderstand me here."

She started to look away, and he let go with one of his hands to bring it to her chin, softly tilting her face up so he could hold her gaze. "Don't you dare take this to mean I don't want a relationship with you. I can't even believe I'm saying it. I _hate_ it. But you mean too much to me to jump into something too fast and screw things up. I know I blew up at the time, but later I gave a lot of thought to what you had to say. I hated it then and I hate it now, but it makes sense. It makes sense because of one word you said, that I haven't been able to stop thinking about since."

The slight edge of fear in her voice was almost his undoing. "What word, Booth?"

"You said that maybe we should wait if we want this to have a chance at being long-term. Bones, there aren't words to tell you just how long-term I intend this to be. I don't even want long-term. I want _permanent:_ throw away the key, never going to change kind of permanence. That's the only option for me. I'm in this forever. If we need to wait for both of us to heal before we are officially together - if that's what it takes to make this be forever - then that's the way I want to do it."

… ooo … ooo …

With fearful fascination, Booth watched the parade of emotions that crossed her face as he spoke, starting with that deep-seated terror of abandonment that he had known he risked triggering with this conversation. Next, he watched her process his words about the relationship being permanent, becoming more worried by the moment that he might have overcompensated and freaked her out about _that._ If nothing else, he could probably lay claim to being the only man in the world head-over-heels in love with a woman who could go from terror of abandonment to terror of commitment in 2.5 seconds.

He almost literally saw the moment that she came way too close to shutting him out and running out the door to protect herself - from _both_ fears; felt her hand tense in his. He sat mesmerized as he watched her steel herself and push past it, her eyes growing determined as she locked eyes with him, pushed it down, and decided to confront the situation head-on - to trust him enough to take him at his word that he still loved her; that he didn't intend to hurt or abandon her. The relief that washed over him was like a physical wave crashing into him, knowing that he had just been given another huge gift. Even a year before, she'd have been out his door with her walls rebuilt so fast it would have made him dizzy. His hands had subconsciously tightened their grip on her hand in that moment he thought she was going to run, and even that relaxed as he let out the huge breath he had been holding.

Still, it was almost too long before she spoke, and he started to get nervous all over again. He had just laid his heart out in front of her. "Bones? Say something?"

"I disagree, Booth."

His mouth fell open slightly. "You were the one who suggested it in the first place."

"I wasn't thinking clearly at the time. After giving the matter some thought, I don't believe that what I read applies to our situation," she replied oh-so-calmly.

Booth's head felt like it was spinning. He wanted desperately to do the right thing, first and foremost for her, and then for them. He just didn't have a clue anymore what that was. As such, he found himself arguing a position with which he vehemently disagreed. "Bones, you already know how I feel. If jumping into this too fast means that I run the risk of losing you, I'm not taking that chance. I can't."

"Booth, everything that I read applied to beginning a _new_ relationship. We've been partners and friends for almost five years. It would not be a new relationship. We would simply be changing the status of an existing relationship."

At any point within at least the last couple of years, if anybody had told him he would ever be arguing with Bones _against_ starting a relationship with each other when she was arguing _for_ one, he would have laughed. Or pulled his gun in self defense, because he was obviously in the presence of a complete lunatic. And yet...

"It's still a huge change, Bones. Maybe more than you're ready for right now."

"The change has already taken place, Booth. It can't be undone. I already know how you feel, and vice versa."

Damn the situation, damn everything - hearing her say _that_ was going to have the same reaction every time, and he wasn't going to apologize for it. Because at the end of the day, whether they started it now or later, her cards were on the table and he wasn't letting her take them back if he could help it. They were going to be together eventually, and she was even _fighting_ for it. He couldn't stop the teasing grin that broke out on his face as he gave her hand a squeeze; couldn't resist the urge to gently probe for more. "You mean, that you love me?"

His delighted, boyish grin and suddenly sparkling eyes got to her, like they always did whether she would admit it or not. Very slowly, an answering smile crept onto her face, carefully restrained but impossible to fully hide. "Yes, Booth. Like I told you."

He would have liked to hear the words again, but figured that was probably asking a little much. He settled for winking at her and kissing her hand again, this time playfully. "Love you too, Bones."

She was still smiling back at him, and even let a small, nervous chuckle out as she looked away for a moment before looking back at him. He thought that little bit of shy awkwardness from her even as she accepted his teasing was one of the cutest things he had ever seen - a sentiment he would be keeping firmly to himself so that he didn't lose any appendages. 'Tell her _every_ thing' could only rationally go so far, and he might still be slightly unbalanced but he wasn't suicidal.

"My point, Booth, is that it would make far more sense to acknowledge what has been said and simply take the physical aspect very slowly, than it would to pretend that nothing has changed."

Booth nodded slowly, taking his time to turn her words over in his mind. His heart was screaming, _'Yes, yes, yes, take her up on it...NOW.'_ But his brain had to be sure. He waited so long that it gave her time to start thinking of questions of her own, which she of course wanted to ask. In so doing, she went in for the kill without even realizing it - in dramatic fashion.

"Although, Booth, if you're uncomfortable with making a change in our relationship now, I suppose that it would be reasonable to establish some guidelines about how this would work. I assume that in the meantime our relationship would remain strictly partnership. Are you suggesting that during that time, we would both also be free to date other people?"

Any remaining trace of his earlier broad smile vanished instantly, as his hand instinctively tightened around hers, pulling it a little closer to him. He felt the same feeling he had felt in her office the night he had blown up, and the truth was that he was dangerously close to doing it again. The word "MINE" surged up in him with all the passion that it had the first time, but he clamped down on the explosion with a steely mental grip.

In his battle for control, he didn't even notice the tiny frown on her face as she spoke, the one that would have told him she didn't really care for that suggestion either. Nor did he notice the tiny, mildly amused smirk that started pulling at the corners of her lips when he possessively tightened his grip on her hand as he sat there fuming. Just because she hadn't realized what her innocent question was going to cause didn't mean she was blind to his reaction; and it certainly didn't mean she wasn't going to use that steep learning curve of hers and adapt quickly, capitalizing on the opportunity.

"Booth?" She leaned in, touching his face with the hand that still wore the cast, satisfied to see that he didn't jump away from her this time - even if it was because he looked like he was too busy considering pulling his gun and unloading it into some inanimate object that would have him in Sweets' office for a month. "Your face is turning purple. Are you feeling ill?"

He somehow managed not to growl as he scowled at her. "No, I'm great, Bones. Little worried about you, though, because..." All of his frustration finally broke through as he gave up on whatever smart remark he had intended to make and just dictated his stream of consciousness. "Have you lost your _mind_?"

He finally noticed the triumphant look that had won its battle for dominance on her face, and it relaxed him slightly - but not very much. "Should I take that to mean that you're not suggesting our relationship should remain _strictly_ partnership, either way?" she pushed.

This time, he was quick to answer. "No, you're definitely right. Things have already changed." He still looked more than a little perturbed, and somewhat sulky. "Damnit, Bones, you don't know how hard I'm trying not to act like a possessive jerk here, but I don't care. That is _not_ happening. You can call me a neanderthal if you want to. Just don't say anything like that ever again."

She pulled lightly on her hand in his, and at first he thought she was pulling away from him. When his alarmed eyes shot up to her face, he realized with relief that she was indicating for him to move onto the couch beside her. He went willingly, sitting a lot closer to her this time, still determined not to let go of her hand as the obviously needless jealousy refused to let go of him completely.

"I accept those terms." Her eyes were practically dancing, whether from happiness or amusement he couldn't have been sure.

"Yeah?" He didn't realize it, but his were as well. How could they not be, if she was pretty much agreeing not to ever again so much as _mention_ herself in the same sentence as dating any guy but him?

"I find your request to be reasonable. Provided, of course, that you agree to the same terms."

"Done," he answered lightning fast. He didn't even have to think about that one. "Nothing to worry about there, Bones. I'm all yours." Now that he realized she hadn't _really_ been suggesting that they see other people, he felt a little sheepish. He was almost 40 years old, and this was the woman he trusted with his life. How could he not know - for the _second_ time - that his heart was safe with her too? "You're not even going to call me a caveman and lecture me about alpha-male tendencies?"

"Obviously, you're quite aware of your disturbingly alpha-male tendencies, Booth. Perhaps Sweets might be of assistance."

One finger pointed at her for emphasis as he gave the immediate, expected response. "Bones, you are _not_ going to..." His head cocked to the side in mid-word, and he looked at her sharply as a bark of laughter shot out of his throat. "You were joking."

"I _am_ capable of being humorous, Booth."

"Maybe so, but holding Sweets over my head is not funny. He thinks I'm nuts enough as it is."

"You laughed."

"I did not."

"You did."

For a couple of moments, he sat just grinning at her, enjoying the comfortable rhythm between them - at least until reality hit as the smiles gradually faded and the awkwardness started to creep back in.

That was when pure, complete, total panic washed over him.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? What did she _want_ him to do? Hold her? Kiss her? He knew what he would _normally_ do in this situation, and both of those were high on the list. But what was the next step for what they were? And had they even really _decided_ what they were?

She wasn't much help. She sat looking at him with the same question written on her face. Great. The one time she actually deferred to him as the expert in a situation, and he didn't have a clue. Figured.

"Sooooo...Bones..." _'Good one,'_ the bitter little bastard who had recently taken up residence in his head berated him. _'What are you, in middle school again?'_

He cleared his throat and tried again. "So...not just partners or friends, but not jumping all the way in yet either. Something in between? For a little while?"

She nodded in acceptance of the compromise, but he could see the questions hovering in her eyes too as she repeated his words. "Something in between."

Still, she sat studying him solemnly. That was when he decided, once again, on total honesty. "Then you've gotta help me here, Bones."

He could see that he had her curious, so he inched just a tiny bit closer toward her on the couch, looking into her eyes and hoping she could see the sincerity there. "Help you how?"

"With _this_ \- this whole thing."

"I don't know what that means."

The tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips. "Exactly. Neither do I. Bones, I'm just going to be honest with you. I've never been in a situation like this. I don't have a clue what to do. I don't have a clue what to do right _now_ , at this exact minute, and I don't have a clue where to go from here."

She opened her mouth as though she were going to answer, and then closed it. Finally, she responded. "I still don't know what that means."

Booth sighed, looking down at their linked hands as he tried to spell it out for her, hoping she wouldn't think less of him. He softly ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "I don't know whether to touch you. I don't know _how_ to touch you. I don't know when it's okay." Looking up into her eyes, the worst of it came out. "And I don't know how to be the one that stops your nightmares when I'm the one that's causing them. It scares me to death, Bones."

Her eyes dropped, and he was near panic until they rose back up to look at him. "It's okay to touch me, Booth."

It was his turn to drop his eyes. "Not always it isn't, Bones. Not always. It's like walking through a minefield with a blindfold on. I don't dare even try it. I'm too afraid that I'll have to see you be scared of me again. I can't do anything else to cause it. You have no idea what that does to me."

Uncertainty once again had taken control of her face. "I'm sorry, Booth."

His eyes snapped back up to her instantly. "God...it's not your fault, Bones. No way. But I can't be the one to push things forward. I just can't. When it's time for this to move to the next step, you're going to have to be the one to do it - because I'm not doing anything you don't tell me is okay. It's not that I don't want to touch you. I do, and I hate this. It just doesn't feel right. Maybe it makes me old fashioned, but I'm used to being the one to do that first. But I..."

He was so focused on her eyes that he was only vaguely aware of her pulling her hand out of his as he spoke. But he was almost painfully aware of that warm hand against his cheek a moment later, and of her soft lips stopping his in mid-word as she leaned in and pressed them against his mouth. She kissed him softly but firmly, her lips sliding across his in a warm caress that had him holding back an embarrassing groan. One tiny kiss, and every one of his nerve endings was on fire. He was hyper aware of every move she made, including the way she pushed closer to him on the couch, her cast suddenly resting on his knee, which was also now pressed tightly up against hers. Tentatively, his hands rose to her face, sliding her hair out of the way as he tenderly cupped her cheeks in his palms and returned the pressure against her lips.

She pulled back a moment later, and he reluctantly let her go, dropping his hands into his lap.

"I told you, Booth. It's okay to touch me. And now you know it's okay to kiss me. When you decide the time is right, you can kiss me first."

Booth's head was still spinning from that kiss. It took her words a minute to sink in, but when they did he almost kissed her again. It was so Bones. He had asked her for help, and she had taken him literally - offering a totally logical solution, but one that was full of heart at the same time. She obviously had no problem being the one to kiss him first. But she understood that he was more comfortable the other way, and had just given him the right to do so when he decided he was ready. Just to put him back in his comfort zone. Some dazzled, inane part of his brain absently wondered if it was too soon to propose.

The ball was back in his court, in more ways than one. And he needed to say something. Deciding that it probably _was_ a little premature to drop to one knee, he was going to have to come up with something else. And he needed to lighten the mood. He was all good with keeping his hands to himself. Until she did things like _that._ Then he just needed a breather.

"Well jeez, Bones. I thought maybe I'd at least buy you dinner first." He gave her his best cocky grin, hoping she'd cut him some slack and not be hurt by the change in his tone. She was still pressed right up against his side, and if one more serious or sweet word came out of her mouth, he wasn't really so sure she'd be getting that dinner before she got kissed again.

To his relief, she rose a wry eyebrow at him. "I suppose you will insist on paying, as well."

Playfully, he bumped her knee with his. "You better believe it, baby. I'm opening doors and pulling your chair out too."

"Baby?" she repeated disparagingly. Her tone would have made flowers wilt. He had wondered how many times she would let him get away with it.

"Yes, Bones?" he answered as though she had been the one calling him that, trying to look serious and failing miserably.

She glared at him. "That wasn't funny."

He had managed to maneuver his way past that one without a command not to call her 'baby', so he moved on quickly. Another battle for another day, and one he intended to win. But right then, it was getting late and he needed her to _not_ be pressed up against him anymore. Since when had her glaring at him like that become some kind of damn aphrodisiac? He couldn't have taken his eyes away from her mouth if he had tried. And he was wanting to 'try' less by the minute.

Standing up, he held his hand out to her with a shrug. "Fine. Just for that, I'm bringing you flowers too. Deal with it, Bones. Come on. I'll take you home. You can leave your car here and I'll pick you up in the morning." If she agreed, it was a win-win-win. He got to spend a few more minutes with her driving her home while his hands and eyes were occupied with driving, he didn't have to worry about her getting home safe or extracting a promise to call, he was guaranteed to see her in the morning, and maybe she'd even sleep in past whatever ungodly hour she'd wake up and go to work otherwise. The only wrinkle in his plan - or maybe it was the icing on the cake - was that she'd have to come home with him the next night too to get her car. He could cross that bridge when he got there.

She took his hand and rose, much to his relief - which only lasted for a moment.

"Could I stay tonight, Booth?"

… ooo … ooo …

Booth froze right where he stood, her hand still clasped in his where he had been preparing to lead her out the door of his apartment and to his SUV just as fast as possible. That hand in his was all but forgotten as he willed his heart to start beating again. There was no possible way he had just heard her correctly. She hadn't just innocently asked him if they could do a repeat of the night in her apartment; not when he still couldn't drag his eyes away from those tempting, soft lips of hers that she had just given him free rein to kiss whenever he chose...

This. Was. Not. A. Good. Idea.

"What?" he finally managed, just because some part of him was aware he needed to say _something._ He knew he wasn't going to be winning any awards for eloquence that night. It was a miracle he got that much out.

"Could I stay here tonight, Booth? With you?" Brennan repeated patiently.

He swallowed hard, his blood suddenly racing, but gave no other response as he stood there wondering if she could hear how hard his heart was hammering in his chest. _D_ _on't jump to conclusions. Maybe she just wants to stay on the couch_ _ **alone -**_ _that wouldn't be so bad. I'd offer her my bed instead, but holy God..._

"I thought perhaps we could sleep together," she clarified.

His eyes slammed shut, knowing exactly what she meant but wishing for at least the millionth time that she wasn't always so devastatingly _literal_ in her explanations. Because his brain could be pretty freaking non-literal and colloquial in its interpretations. The mantra ran through his mind over and over - _'You know what she means. You know what she means'_ \- but damnit, have fun telling that to his ears; they had already teamed forces with the late hour and the taste of her still on his lips to drag his imagination along on a one-way trip to somewhere he didn't need to go. It crossed his mind that they needed to have a talk at some point about her word choices. Soon.

"Bones, I don't know if that's a good idea," he tried gently, his eyes still closed so he didn't have to look at her as he struggled to focus on what she actually _meant_ instead of what he was really trying not to hear. He'd actually love nothing more than to snuggle up with her on his couch and get his arms around her again while she slept peacefully. The problem was, he'd love it a little _too_ much.

Most importantly, he still had no idea what had sent her to the floor from his arms in her apartment. They had _just_ worked some things out. If he woke up the next morning to find her gone again and he had _any_ reason to question what he might have done, he'd drive himself crazy.

He finally dared to open his eyes and wished immediately that he hadn't - because he knew the instant he saw her, even before she opened her mouth, that he was going to be giving in. The sight of clear blue eyes with just the tiniest tinge of hurt in them was more than he could bear.

"I don't understand, Booth. We slept together before at my apartment. Is that outside the boundaries of our new arrangement?"

He was already lost, and he knew it. She'd be sleeping in his arms again that night. The only question was how much caution he was going to be able to salvage and maintain in the process. Tugging her just a little closer by the hand he still held, he took advantage of that new freedom she had given him to kiss her - but only so far as to lean down and softly brush his lips across her cheek to soothe what she was perceiving as rejection. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, held tight to her hand, and made sure she was looking at him before he spoke seriously. This was something he needed to make her understand up front.

"The boundaries aren't for you, Bones. They're for me. If you want to stay, then stay and let me worry about the boundaries, okay? You don't have any."

She still looked uncertain, as though she wished she had never brought it up and might bolt on him at any moment. "It's really not necessary, Booth. I didn't mean to impose." She pulled her hand away from him, not angrily but with determination. "I'll see you tomorrow." She hesitated a moment before reaching up and kissing his cheek - exactly the way he had just kissed hers - and then turning for the door.

Booth resisted the urge to rush over and block the exit. That would only make her feel trapped, and that was completely out of the question. But so was letting her leave like that, with that look of hurt confusion on her face - a look that he had put there because she had asked him for what she needed only to see him hesitate. Indecision and frustration made him want to groan out loud; he was so tired of trying to do the right thing and getting it wrong at least half of the time.

That kiss on the cheek she had just given him hit him like a punch in the stomach too, when he realized she was copying exactly what he had done. It told him that she was clearly following his lead, which simultaneously touched him and scared him senseless.

Although it was a little surprising, it made sense in a way. He had, after all, held himself up as the relationship and 'heart' expert for years, and she was the first to admit that she felt inadequate when it came to relationships. She obviously believed in him, and that felt good. Amazingly good. But now he was starting to wonder if maybe it was the blind leading the blind.

Why in God's name couldn't he have just hidden his panicked reaction when she asked to stay, instead of reacting like some horny teenager that didn't trust himself to keep control? It might not be _easy_ , but he knew damn well he wasn't really going to do anything questionable, at least not while he was awake. The stakes were too high and he loved her way too much to take chances. And if he didn't trust himself to resist temptation in his sleep, that was _his_ problem. Why the hell had he made it hers? If he was worried about his hands getting away from him while he was out cold, why couldn't he have just quietly held her on the couch until she was asleep and he couldn't stay awake any longer, and then solve the problem by _taking his hands off of her_ and moving himself somewhere else close by where he could still watch over her? But instead, he had acted like he didn't want her there, knowing just how hard it could be for her to admit need in the first place. Guilt poured over him again in waves.

With great effort, he kept his feet planted right where she had left him as he watched her walk away, wondering just how long he would be able to stay there if she got one step closer to that door. "Temperance."

Her given name got her attention and made her hesitate, which was exactly what he wanted. "I'm going to go get you something to wear. Please, Bones...be here when I get back. Don't leave - please. You're not imposing. I want you to stay. I want to hold you. I want to sleep with..." he cleared his throat. God, he was as bad as she was; "You know - together. On the couch. Like you said."

She still didn't look entirely convinced that she hadn't crossed some type of line, but her words at least gave him a little hope that her staying was still on the table. "You don't have to get me anything. I have an extra bag in my car."

He knew how that one would end. It would end with a phone call saying since she was already out there, she might as well just go ahead and drive home. "It's freezing out there, Bones. I've got it covered. Just wait here, okay?"

He forced himself to walk away from her to his bedroom, forced himself to give her the choice - trying not to think about the fact that she had already _made_ a choice before he balked. He could only hope she'd make the same choice again and decide to stay. He really didn't relish the idea of having to chase her down and initiate _another_ terribly awkward conversation about just why he had panicked at the idea of holding her all night. He had never come clean so much in his life - he didn't want to confess anything _else_ that night, least of all the fact that hearing her say he could kiss her whenever he damn well pleased had completely short-circuited his brain to the point that right then he just wanted to kiss her _all the time;_ he was still committed to keeping his hands off as long as she needed - he just needed a little recovery time alone after she said something like that.

For the time being, at least, he had something else to focus on: picking out some clothes for Bones to sleep in. In his arms. On his couch. He quickly bypassed his boxer drawer and pulled her out a pair of his sweatpants instead, feeling a little bit guilty at the thought that even though she might be more comfortable in a pair of his shorts, he just didn't care. For once, her comfort wasn't going to take priority. He'd just turn the heat down or something if she was too hot - because just thinking of those miles of long legs sticking out bare-skinned from a pair of his shorts made _him_ feel a little warm.

He knew she hadn't left - his ears were so attuned to what was going on in his living room that he'd have known she was leaving before she did, and he could have been there in a split second. Moving to his t-shirt drawer and feeling a little more confident that she had decided to stay, he allowed a smile to pull at his lips as he made the oh-so-important decision of what shirt to offer her. He was probably going to hell for enjoying it so much, but it wasn't like he got to do _this_ often and there were so many favorite mental images to pick from. It really wasn't as though he hadn't pictured her in most of them anyway. But as fun as it was to dream, there was no use standing there staring into the drawer any longer; he was kidding himself if he didn't admit that he immediately knew which one he was going to be reaching for. He almost wanted to whistle to himself as he snagged a new toothbrush from his medicine cabinet and walked back out to his living room, grinning like a fool when he saw her still standing there looking slightly less uncertain.

"Here ya go, Bones." He handed the items to her, wondering if she was curious why he was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. He let their hands brush as he softened his smile. "Thank you for staying."

She disappeared down the hallway into his bathroom after a small smile, her brow furrowed in a way that told him she had at least noticed his suddenly cocky demeanor. He moved quickly into his bedroom to get ready for bed himself, wanting to be in the living room by the time she came out. He changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and one of his Army t-shirts for himself, brushed his teeth, grabbed some blankets, and almost jogged to his couch.

It was so long before that door opened that he was starting to get concerned, but she seemed relaxed enough when she emerged in his way-too-big sweatpants and the shirt he had picked. She also wore a look of mildly amused toleration on her face that told him he was _so_ busted.

"Booth, am I correct in assuming that you purposely chose this particular shirt?"

He shrugged, grinning at the sight of her in one of his navy blue FBI training t-shirts - one, of course, with his last name proudly emblazoned in small gold letters on the upper left side of the chest, a little below her collarbone. He knew full well that if she turned around, he would also see his last name scrawled in much larger letters across her back. He liked it every bit as much as he had always assumed he would. Maybe more.

"Do I have a chance in hell of you believing me if I deny it?"

He obviously already knew the answer to that one, so she didn't bother answering. She still stood just a little uncertainly in the entrance to his living room from the hallway, with that same knowing smile on her face. "I could explain the anthropological reasons why you find it appealing, Booth."

He managed not to roll his eyes as his smile only grew larger. "Not necessary, Bones. Even I can figure that one out; just let me enjoy it. C'mere." He scooted back against the arm of the couch, slumping down just enough that he could rest his head sideways against the back of the couch, opening his arms to her in invitation - just like they had sat on her couch. One foot was flat on the floor, the other up on the couch stretched out along the back.

She was still several steps from him when the memory hit him like a fist in his gut, his face growing serious as his arms dropped back to his lap. He had been so busy imagining his name scrawled all over her that he hadn't even thought about it. The last time he had seen her in a pair of his sweatpants and one of his t-shirts, she had been entering the emergency room with Angela, not willing to even look at him. For just a minute, it was like he was seeing it again, right down to the huge bruise that had been on her cheek. The marks on her wrists still hadn't faded completely, but he saw them again just as red and raw as the day he had _thank-God-finally_ found her.

He swallowed hard, giving in to the rush of memories, including the inevitable one of how she had come to be in his clothes in the first place - him putting them on her, as she lay unconscious in the back of the van, his heart hammering in his chest with the fear that she would wake up and think he was attacking her again. There had been so much blood on her legs that he had had to clean off, and then that damn lingerie those bastards had put her in - the same lingerie that she had discovered later and been forced to _touch_ again to remove it herself, because he hadn't had the balls to take that one last step to protect her and get rid of it for her...

She noticed the change in his demeanor, saw the look of guilt that seemed to have taken up near-permanent residence on his face since their return. She hadn't recognized it for what it was until their conversation in Sweets' office, but this time she recognized it instantly and stopped short of coming to him.

"What is it, Booth?"

He shook his head, his face pale. Suddenly, he knew exactly what had taken so long in the bathroom - there was no way in hell she hadn't thought about it too. "I'm sorry, Bones. I didn't think. Do you want something else? Let me get you something different. Your bag - I'll go get your bag for you."

He was already moving to get up, but she stopped that rather effectively by sitting herself down on the couch, leaving her essentially right between his widespread legs. She rested a hand on his knee that was against the back of the couch.

"It's fine, Booth."

She would be lying if she pretended she didn't know what he meant. She had been assailed with her own memories in the bathroom, forcing them down as she splashed wave after wave of cold water on her face, wondering how something as insignificant as clothing could affect her so strongly. It had seemed completely irrational, causing her to feel silly and weak, and she had ruthlessly denied herself the right to be bothered by it. But seeing that Booth was affected the same way - far worse, actually, judging by the color of his skin - had the unexpected effect of making her feel slightly better.

The fact that she didn't bother to question what he was talking about, however, provided all the evidence Booth needed to feel even worse. "It's not fine. It upset you, Bones, and I should have realized. You should have said something."

But she had just faced down that particular demon in his bathroom and had won - at least for the time being - before emerging. That small victory allowed her to be steady and firm as she took _her_ turn reassuring _him_. "Booth, if I wanted something different to wear, I'd go to my car and get it. I'm fine. This is fine. I don't intend to avoid everything that reminds me of Albania for the rest of my life," she stated strongly, her tone inviting no more argument. "It's reasonable to assume that if we enter a long-term relationship, at some point I would wear clothes of yours that resemble what you put on me after you rescued me. Presumably, I would have the same reaction the first time, whether it's now or later. I see little difference."

He didn't bother to hide the clear admiration in his gaze as he smiled at her and touched her cheek, wondering at her strength. Tension still thrummed through him, but the part of his gut that told him when he needed to just _let something go_ finally reappeared for the first time in days. "You're amazing, Bones. Have I told you that recently?"

His arms were open again and she leaned into him, much less awkwardly than she had on her couch. "I don't believe that you have used those exact words."

He planted a kiss on the top of her head, smiling into her hair when he felt her wrap an arm around his waist and snuggle in closer, secretly amused at how quickly she was becoming a pro at cuddling. He'd have never believed it, but he could definitely get used to it. Opening up one of the blankets he had brought, he wrapped it around her as she settled her head and her casted hand against his chest, reluctantly forcing himself to put his arms around the _outside_ of the blanket with her _inside_ it. If by chance he did lose his mind and go to sleep with her in his arms, he wanted to leave himself as little margin for error as possible.

"Well, you _are_ amazing. I'm going to tell you that every day."

He could feel her wry smile against him. "I'm not certain you're going to have time, considering all of the doors you plan to be opening and the flowers you intend to be purchasing."

The effort at humor was worth it to her when she felt the low rumble of his laughter through his chest - _very_ worth it.

She had been focused on teasing him in an effort to relax him; she certainly hadn't expected the sudden change in her focus that his quiet chuckle brought about, as she became all too aware of the well-structured body she rested against. She could actually feel the vibration deep in his chest where her face and upper body pressed against his well-muscled frame, and that particular sound right in her ear made her shiver against him in a way that had _nothing_ to do with fear. Believing her to be cold, he only pulled her in tighter, rubbing up and down her arms through the blanket. And although the feminist within her should have choked at the thought, she had never felt so _protected_ in her entire life. She felt warm, safe...and something else delicious that she had questioned her ability to feel again.

"You okay? Warm enough?"

His voice was low and intimate near her ear - a little husky in his concern - and he repositioned his arms to hold her a little more firmly against him without waiting for her answer.

That voice seemed to run right through her entire body. For what was only the third time since her kidnapping, she felt the stirrings of a warm, pleasant desire low within her belly, spreading downward. And for the third time, she realized with frustration that there was little she could do about it.

The first time had been in that motel room he tracked her to. She had kissed him as a test, and the sudden surge of arousal that followed had taken her completely by surprise so soon after what had happened. Perhaps it had only been because she hadn't yet realized the impact that her ordeal was going to have on _every_ area of her life, including ones she had never before questioned. Whatever the reason for it, it certainly hadn't lasted long. When he had responded enthusiastically to her kiss, it had taken only seconds for things to end disastrously, with arousal fleeing only to be replaced by terror coursing through her veins as she fled.

That experience had made her quite hesitant, very unsure of her ability to carry though - unsure that she would _ever_ be able to do so.

It had made her hesitant enough, in fact, that the next time Booth had caused that no-longer-familiar reaction in her she had panicked almost immediately. He still knew nothing about it - primarily because he had been sound asleep on her couch at the time. Everything in her had wanted to touch him, to explore him in the ways she had been imagining before her abduction, for longer than she cared to admit. But why start something that she was incapable of finishing? The likelihood was high that it would have ended in much the same way as it had the first time.

And that was exactly why she wasn't going to act on it this third time, either, no matter how much she wanted to just turn in his arms and tell him that she was ready to move them to the next step. Because no matter how much she thought she wanted to, she still felt a sharp stab of anxiety when she thought about him kissing her neck or moving atop her. And perhaps it was illogical for it to be her primary consideration, but she just didn't want to see the look on his face if he did something that caused her to panic again. Plus, she knew what a tease was, and she didn't want to be one.

And yet she still couldn't help but give in to one more hungry little shiver when he chuckled once more at her little joke, now that he was satisfied with his grip on her and satisfied that she was warm enough. He kissed the top of her head as she felt his laugh rumble low in his chest again.

"That really was a good joke. You're cute, Bones. Adorable. Hey - owww! What are you doing?"

"It didn't hurt that much, Booth."

"You poked me in the ribs!"

"Technically, I jabbed you between the number..."

"Okay, okay. I take it back," he grumbled, knowing exactly what had earned him her sudden wrath. "You're _not_ cute."

A moment of silence passed while she evidently thought about that statement, and he had almost decided he was safe.

"Ow! Jeez, Bones, would you quit it?"

"That time it was the number..."

"Go to sleep, Bones." His tone was playful, but he had to stifle a heavy sigh at the sudden sadness that had washed over him, not wanting her to hear it and think he was actually irritated with her. Far from it.

As much as he loved playing with her any way he could, it was just one more reminder of how different things had to be because of what had happened. Because that second time she poked him in the ribs, he should have been able to follow his first impulse and do exactly what any guy should be able to do when his girlfriend wanted to play: grab her wrists, flip her under him, pin her down and tickle her until she begged for mercy. And because it was Bones, when he got done kissing her senseless afterward, he would then brace himself for her to turn the tables on him and return the 'torture.' And he would damn well enjoy every second of it.

But he couldn't do that because if he did, he'd trigger a goddamn flashback; for _both_ of them.

Would they ever be able to get there? He just wasn't sure. He didn't even know if she felt any physical desire for him at all at that point beyond comfort, much less if she'd ever be up for something like that again. It seemed unlikely, and it was just one more reason he wanted to dig Tolka back up and kill him again. He hadn't been lying when he told Bones that not all of the dreams he had for them were sexual. Certainly there had been plenty of those, but just as much as that he mourned the loss of plenty other possibilities - like goofing off with her and wrestling with her, just because she poked him in the ribs and they _could._

 _"_ Are you all right, Booth?" She was twisting in his arms, trying to look up to see his face.

 _'Damnit.'_ He hadn't wanted her to pick up on his sudden change in mood. But considering how tightly he had her against his chest, it had been a long shot that she wouldn't feel him tense up when he started fantasizing about beating the hell out of everybody who had played a part in hurting her.

"I'm fine. Sorry. I was just thinking."

There was a brief pause, and she nudged him again, more gently this time as a sly smile spread across her face, only slightly masking the concern there. He could practically see the wheels turning. "Perhaps you should leave that to the experts." Her voice held so much amusement and pride at her own joke that he couldn't help the small chuckle that left him as he looked down at her face craning up to watch his reaction, seeing how she clearly couldn't wait to see his response to her latest attempt at humor.

That same twinge of sadness hit him even as he smiled. He _loved_ her like this - relaxed and allowing herself to be free with him. Nobody saw this side of Bones but him - not like this, anyway - and it had been a slow progression over the course of four years. But now that she was finally _his (_ at least in some ways) and clearly wanted to play with him, his hands were figuratively tied. "On a roll, aren't you, Bones? Maybe you should leave humor to the experts."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her smile fading. "Are you certain that nothing is bothering you?"

He kissed the top of her head again, trying to settle her back more comfortably against him. "Just tired. Let's get some sleep, okay?" He felt her nod against him, and then all was quiet.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

It was almost an hour before Booth felt Bones' breathing change and her heart rate slow and he knew that she was finally asleep. He had been through every mental exercise he could think of to keep himself awake, and he was just going to have to do them all again - he didn't dare fall asleep with her in his arms, but he couldn't move yet either. He didn't want to risk waking her by moving her until she was in a deep sleep.

It was 2:00 in the morning before he finally gave up, knowing that he couldn't stay awake even a moment longer. Very, very carefully, he began trying to disentangle himself from her, intent on gently laying her down on his couch, covering her up, and either moving to a chair or to the floor like she had done in her apartment.

"Booth?"

He jumped a little at her sleepy, questioning voice, his eyes flying down to her to see that hers were still closed, her head still cradled on his chest. "Shhh, Bones, it's okay. Go back to sleep. I'll be close by."

The arm around his waist only tightened a little. "Where are you going?"

He _loved_ knowing that half-awake Bones could be all sweet and clingy, but this wasn't how he had wanted to find out. He needed badly to extricate himself from her so he could lay down somewhere else and sleep without having to worry that he was going to grope her. "I'm just going to move to the chair so you can stretch out."

"Mmm. Why? This feels good."

After a long, guilty pause, he relaxed back into the couch a little and allowed her to settle completely back against him. He knew when he was beat. "Never mind, Bones. It's all right. Just sleep."

But by that time, she was beginning to wake up enough to think clearly, and he felt her pull away and sit up slightly. Looking into her eyes, he saw nothing but concern shining out at him in the dark room. "Did you have a nightmare, Booth?"

"No, Bones. I didn't have one." He sighed, exhaustion loosening his tongue to the point of carelessness as he let go of her with one arm to rub at his weary eyes. "I was trying to prevent one."

He didn't even have to be looking at her to know the exact expression on her face. "Prevent one? How?"

He sighed again. "It's not important. I'm not going anywhere. C'mere."

She leaned into him again, and quite a while passed as he stared at the ceiling with troubled, wide-awake eyes. He knew she wasn't asleep either. In fact, she was probably lying awake trying to figure out what he had been talking about.

It was only a matter of time before the questions started, and she was better at interrogation than she thought - at least when it came to him.

Suddenly, his eyes closed and his arms contracted around her as he made a decision: the question that had been burning in him since that night in her apartment was finally going to get the better of him. He wouldn't be able to rest with her in his arms until he knew, and she obviously wanted to _stay_ in his arms. That part, at least, was a good problem to have. He'd be just as happy to keep her there forever. But since he had to sleep sometime, he might as well ask because this was getting ridiculous. The point of them staying together was supposed to be so that they could both rest better.

And at least if he started asking questions first, he could be the one in control of the conversation.

Without preamble, he broke the long silence, feeling her startle slightly against his chest when he suddenly began speaking. "I need to ask you something, Bones, and I need you to tell me the truth."

She recovered quickly, sounding mildly offended. "I wouldn't lie to you, Booth."

He rubbed her arms soothingly. "I know that. But this is important to me, Bones. It may sound like a strange question - God, I _hope_ it sounds like a strange question - but I just need to know."

She pulled away and sat up again so that she could look at him. "What do you need to know?"

He hesitated a beat, his heart racing because he still wasn't sure that he really _did_ want to know. "When I stayed the night at your apartment, the last time we did this - when I woke up you were on the floor."

Her eyes started to widen in a way that told him in no uncertain terms she had some idea where this was going, giving him a sinking feeling that he was about to find out he had done something awful after all. But he forced the question out of his lips anyway.

"I need to know why you moved away from me. Tell me the truth, Bones."

… ooo … ooo …

There was no mistaking the panic that crossed her face when he finally voiced his question and plea for honesty. He had really almost come to the conclusion that he hadn't done anything awful to her that night. He had only wanted to be sure so he could finally relax a little bit, so it came as the worst kind of shock to see that reaction from her when he finally asked.

Still, some part of him screamed that it didn't make sense. For starters, if he had done something, then why the hell would she willingly put herself in the same position again?

 _'Because she trusts you, asshole, not that you deserve it,'_ came the caustic reply from his not-so-helpful inner voice.

He'd utterly forgotten about the guilt on her face that night, despite how much he had gnawed on it in his brain trying to figure it out at the time. If he'd thought about it at this exact moment, he might have been a bit swifter on the uptake. As it was, he just wondered if their relationship was going to make it past whatever she had to tell him.

At the moment, she looked like she was trying to figure out whether to cry or jump up and run, and that look only horrified him further. He backed himself as far into the arm of the couch as he could go, his eyes huge, and he'd have jumped right off the couch if she wasn't still between his spread legs. God, it must have been so much worse than he had even imagined to put that look on her face. What was he even supposed to say? An apology just wouldn't quite cover it.

 _Please, God, just don't let her cry...she can punch me, slap me, leave me, whatever. Just please don't let her cry._

"I'd prefer not to tell you, Booth," she told him in a voice that was _way_ too prim and overly rational. But the only thing wider than his eyes were hers, and his heart sank at the answer.

"So something did happen that night," he stated flatly, his voice doing nothing to convey the distress that filled him even as he still hoped that just maybe he was getting the wrong idea. "Didn't it?"

He had never seen her look so hesitant before, and she nodded her head reluctantly. "Yes," she whispered.

Why couldn't the floor just open and swallow him? "What?" he whispered back, dreading the answer. She looked so nervous that he was beginning to really panic. Just how far had he gone? She searched his eyes like she was desperate to find an escape from this conversation, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

"Okay, now you're really scaring me. Tell me what happened, Bones."

Suddenly, her eyes were no longer meeting his and she looked fascinated by the fabric of his couch between them. "I believe it might make you extremely uncomfortable."

She might as well have signed her name to his written confession, as hard as that statement hit him. He exhaled like someone had punched him right in the gut, his head falling back to stare at the ceiling, a look of utter resignation on his face. There was no getting around it now. He had done _something_ , and it was horrible.

"What did I do?" he asked the ceiling, not sure who he was even talking to. His voice sounded empty and hollow even to his own ears. _There_ was a question he hadn't asked since the morning after his last college frat party, and had never intended to ask again; only back then, the answer hadn't seemed so excruciatingly crucial, either. His entire future hadn't hung in the balance of whether or not he had made an ass of himself and just couldn't remember. He couldn't even look at her as the potential consequences hit him.

"You didn't do anything," the quick answer came, almost before he was done speaking. When he chanced a glance at her, she was biting her lip hard enough that he almost wanted to tell her to stop before she made it bleed. He knew the look on her face well: embarrassment. God, she was _embarrassed_ by what he had done? He hadn't thought he could feel any worse, but that look accomplished it. Just exactly how X-rated had he gotten with her in his sleep? Which of his beyond-X-rated fantasies had he picked that night to act out on the trusting woman in his arms?

"Don't worry about hurting me, Bones," he said shakily. "I need to know. What did I do to you?"

"Nothing, Booth!" Her voice was stronger, but still shaky. "You didn't do anything to me. I don't want to talk about this."

At her insistence, he felt another stab of guilt jam through his heart. Of course she didn't want to talk about it. She had trusted him and he had freaking taken advantage of her. And now he was going to make her give a play-by-play? Jesus. What was wrong with him?

"God…I'm sorry, Bones. You don't have to tell me. Just - I'm so sorry. Whatever it is, it won't happen again, I promise," he poured out a little desperately.

"Booth!" She sounded almost angry now, determined to make him listen. "I told you. You didn't _do_ anything. There's nothing to apologize for."

His mind raced as he tried to put the puzzle together. She seemed sincere that he hadn't _done_ anything to her. Then what could...

A slightly-less-horrible but way-more-embarrassing possibility flew into his mind, one that would explain the embarrassment on her face _and_ the moving out of his arms. More forgivable, but what did it really matter whether or not she forgave him if he could never look her in the eyes again?

"Then, um...did I - what did I..." Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Bones, then did I say...something?" He knew his face had to be bright red, and he was glad for the darkness of the room. He wasn't really sure he wanted to hear the...um, dialogue...from one of his more intimate dreams about her come out of her mouth in playback format. At least she wouldn't think he was a prude anymore, but he could only hope that his hands had stayed still if that was the case. Because if they hadn't been on _her_ he would be eternally grateful for that, but it would be somehow almost worse if they had gone anywhere else - like somewhere below his belt buckle - with her having a front row seat in his lap.

And even if this was another wrong guess, it was an admission all by itself, one that he was pretty sure she'd be able to figure out. He might as well be wearing a sign that said, "Guess what _I_ dream about at night..." From prude to pervert in her eyes in 20 seconds. Wonderful.

"Booth, I told you. You were asleep. You didn't say anything. You didn't do anything."

He still couldn't bring himself to believe her. "But if I didn't do anything, then why..."

He was brought up short by something no more substantial than a whisper...

"I did."

Her whispered admission split the quiet in the room like a thunderclap; but there was nothing quiet about the thoughts it sent racing through his mind as he tried to decipher what she could possibly mean...

Oh.

Pause...

 _Ohhhh..._

Jesus.

… ooo … ooo …

 _Brennan's apartment, days before..._

The sleeping woman had whimpered, shifting herself once again in the arms of the man who held her on her couch, careful even in his sleep to protect her and keep her close. But she wasn't aware of his presence there in her living room; it wasn't his protection which consumed her thoughts. She wasn't aware of his arms gently holding her; it wasn't gentleness that preoccupied her. She was only aware of the sensations that had her moaning and restless in her sleep, only cognizant of what was taking place in the recesses of her mind.

It wasn't her first extremely vivid dream in which he had starred. In recent days, he had dominated many of them, leading her to awaken awash in fear.

But this wasn't that kind of dream.

This was the type of dream about him with which she was more familiar; the type she experienced on an almost nightly basis before Albania; the type that had her calling out his name in a completely different context, awakening flushed as she pressed her thighs tightly together to try to soothe the aching void that the dream's departure left her with. It would only be moments before those same thighs would inevitably fall apart as her hand drifted downward, still imagining his fingers, his lips, and oh-god-yes his tongue, even in wakefulness.

She felt slightly less guilty and slightly more pleased with herself each time she gave in.

The setup was simple. She had long ago given up constructing elaborate scenarios to explain the shift in their relationship and just _why_ she was at his door for the first time, knocking, wearing nothing but strappy high-heels and a tiny black g-string beneath her sensible winter coat. No matter the explanation she put behind it, the result was always the same: he never turned her down. And he _always_ satisfied her, fully, unselfishly.

It was her fantasy, after all. He really had no choice but to cooperate, so why waste valuable dream time with the frustrating exercise of just how to get him across his damn line so that it made sense? Dream Booth was decidedly non-prudish and unswervingly cooperative, except on the occasions she chose for him not to be - and really those were just an excuse to get him into his own handcuffs at her mercy so she could return the favor for a change and use her tongue to make _him_ scream instead of the other way around...

As always, he opened the door wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, already conveniently unsnapped and riding low on his perfectly structured hips. Incongruously - because why would he be sleeping in his jeans - she had awakened him with her knocking, and he was sleepy-eyed and slightly gruffy with 5'oclock shadow, his eyes dark.

She had stopped trying to force her mind to conjure up explanations for those seeming inconsistencies a long time ago as well. Why did something so damn perfect even need an explanation? She was much less insistent upon logic in her fantasies. It was distracting to be so concerned with _why_ and _how_ when all you could focus on was 'oh-God-yes-more-please-Booth-now.'

As always, his eyes darkened even more at the sight of her, as they traveled down her bare legs beneath the hem of the coat down to the ridiculously sexy heels strapped on her feet. Although he should really have no way of knowing why she was there and what she had beneath her coat - because it was _always_ their first time: always - it didn't stop him from snapping an arm out around her waist and dragging her through the door against him, before slamming it shut and crowding her against it.

Tonight, however, her dream took a different turn. Rather than guiding the dream-Booth to strip her of the coat and take her hard against the door as he sometimes did, she suddenly felt herself tense up, every muscle in her suddenly rigid. Before she could examine it too closely, she pushed hard against his chest. Although she shouldn't have been able to shove him away if he didn't want to go, he allowed her. Moments later, she had them flipped and his back was to the door - a definite turn in their usual nighttime activities.

He was looking at her with concern in his eyes, and her mind rejected that. She didn't want concern from dream-Booth. For some reason, concern pissed her off. What she wanted was control, and she was going to take it.

Dropping her eyes from his face, she turned her attention instead to the chest that always was the recipient of a quite disproportionate amount of her attention. She had yet to kiss his lips, but she attacked that chest with hunger. His hands flexed at her shoulders as she licked, nipped and sucked her way across his collarbone, right up his throat, along that ridiculously edible jawline, and around to his ear. His groans filled her ears, the amazing smell of his cologne surrounding her as she worked her way across each forbidden piece of him that drew so much of her attention during the day. He was groaning his name for her, and she just wanted to see how many different ways she could make him do it again. Her lips dropped to his shoulder, and she explored his biceps with her fingers as her mouth then proceeded down his chest to those abdominal muscles that she sometimes wished she had never even seen.

Because what was the purpose in knowing what they looked like if she couldn't lick them? It hardly seemed fair.

In her dreams, however, nothing was held back from her. Each muscular knot in that perfectly formed stomach received a lick and a nip, and her groans mixed with his as she did so. She had reached her knees by that time, looking up to watch him breathe heavily with his head back against the door. It was almost enough to make her raise herself back up and go after that exposed throat of his again - almost. But what reached out for her through the tight confines of his jeans almost right at eye level was infinitely more tempting. Her fingers dipped just below his waistband as her tongue teased his navel, feeling every muscle in his stomach jump in anticipation as his hips bucked forward slightly, involuntarily. She took the zipper in her teeth, slowly dragging it down as he groaned her name desperately, before pushing the jeans and his boxers along with them down over the perfect globes of his ass, cupping and squeezing them for the first time.

As she kissed down his leg following the path of the jeans, her hands caressing around the back of his knees and her mouth smiling against him as she heard him gasp, she finally removed the jeans past his bare feet. Looking up from where she knelt on her knees before him, he was finally naked before her; his erection stood tall, proud and wonderfully thick right before her eyes as his chest heaved with the effort to keep control of himself.

For some reason, that struggle of his only turned her on even more, making her want to see just how far she could push him. She couldn't resist letting her hands creep back up his thighs, around to the inside of his legs as she changed her touch to just one fingernail on each hand, hearing him hiss as those nails scraped closer to where he most wanted her. Her hands traveled torturously slowly up his thighs in perfect tandem before they finally split paths - one going to softly cup his balls as the other wasted no time in grasping him and giving him one long, tender stroke that had him ready to beg for more. She wanted nothing more than to give it to him - to take him in her mouth fully and make him scream her name.

But he was going to have to wait, and so was she. Ignoring his groan of protest, she pushed away to her feet and backed up, restraining him from following her with one finger to his chest and a slight shake of her head. He obeyed perfectly - dream Booth always did, unless she didn't really want him to - and her hands played at the tie on her coat. His impatient hands reached out to make quick work of the knot himself, but she batted them away. Oh-so-slowly she untied it, dropping the coat back over her shoulders and hearing his sharp intake of breath as she was revealed to him for the first time.

Clearly, he hadn't expected her to be almost completely naked beneath the coat. He never did, and it always made her smile wickedly at him. Even dream-Booth was fun to shock.

She reached out a hand for him, and he took it. This was usually the point where he crushed her to him, taking back control even as he completely lost control, dragging her to the floor and burying every delicious inch of himself inside her without preamble as his hands found her breast and his mouth found her throat. Usually she liked it that way - fast, hard, and unrelenting. Somehow, she knew she didn't want that tonight, and she felt an uncharacteristic moment of nervousness.

But tonight he simply allowed her to lead him, ratcheting her arousal up several more notches. He had yet to try to touch her. She looked around, contemplating. Rejecting the bedroom, she led him to the couch instead, finally kissing him lightly on the mouth and teasingly pulling away from his effort to deepen it as she pushed him down onto the seat. This was new - they had never done this before. He kept hold of her hand, pulling her down with him, and she allowed one of her knees to go to each side of his hips, straddling him. His hands rested lightly at her waist - not gripping her or pulling her down onto him. Why was she suddenly so unsure? Why was he suddenly so tender? Something was different, and she couldn't quite decide what it was. She kissed him deeply to divert her attention, allowing his tongue entrance, but she still couldn't bring herself to lower down onto him - and why was he pulling away from the kiss to look at her like that?

"I love you, Bones."

Even in her sleep, she gasped. Never had he said that before - not dream-Booth. This was supposed to be just sex. But rather than panicking her, it calmed her to the point that she slowly lowered herself against him, grinding herself into him and gasping at the pleasing sensations it sent shooting through her.

"Booth..." she cried out his name as she circled her hips over him, feeling his hands travel down the miniscule distance to the side tie-straps of the G-string she wore, her breath coming in gasps as he slowly and deliberately undid the bows she had carefully tied. She lifted slightly as he pulled it away, and the last barrier between them was gone, leaving her only in her high-heeled shoes sticking out behind her. His hands were traveling back up her waist as she ground into him again, dragging a hiss from him and a low moan from her. His eyes begged permission to touch, and seemed to find it as his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts for the first time, making her gasp again as he leaned forward and closed his lips over one hard nipple. The attention he lavished on each breast with his tongue, a continuous cycle of teasing and soothing, had her throwing her head back and incomprehensible pleas spilling out of her lips as she continued to grind against him.

In a flash, she was on her back. A moment of alarm shot through her, but then she realized he wasn't hovering over her. Instead he knelt between her wide open thighs, and her back arched as she watched his head bend and disappear between her legs...

"Booth!"

The call from her own lips had woken her up. Her breath still came hard, the pleasurable sensations still present in her body. Several questions immediately flashed through her mind as she pressed her thighs together tightly, resisting the urge to moan out loud in disappointment. Why did she always have to wake up right before she felt what she just knew had to be a sinfully talented tongue working its magic? Why wouldn't her arm move, when all she wanted was to get her hand to her center just as quickly as possible? Why was she meeting resistance when she tried to open her thighs to give herself access? Why was she suddenly having erotic dreams about Booth again after night upon night of nightmares about him?

More frustrating, why had those three little words suddenly incorporated themselves into her purely sexual fantasies?

And above _all_ else, why the hell could she still smell him if she was awake?

It was that last question which was answered first. Her 'bed' shifted beneath her, and she barely stopped herself from letting out a very uncharacteristic yelp. Everything came flooding back: his middle-of-the-night nightmare and subsequent crushing embrace, her own declaration of love, him pulling her into his arms as they drifted off to sleep on her couch.

It also explained why her arm, which had at some point become trapped behind him, couldn't move to finish what her dream had started. His legs had also closed up around her at some point, no longer separated with one on the floor and one against the back of the couch. Instead, they were tight on either side of her own, wrapped protectively around her legs, explaining why she couldn't open her thighs. She was extremely grateful for the fact that she hadn't startled him awake when she cried out his name - but how had he missed all of the moaning and thrashing she had no doubt been doing?

A flash of guilt shot through her - she knew exactly how he had missed it. He had been so busy doing everything he could to take care of her for days, and she had been fighting him all the way. He was exhausted.

But he also smelled amazing, and her body was still worked up to almost a fever pitch. Carefully tugging, she extracted her arm from behind his back, wincing as the pins-and-needles feeling hit her. As the feeling came gradually back into her arm, she raised up slightly and studied the man she was sleeping on - which probably wasn't a good idea.

His strong jaw was relaxed in sleep, his head tossed back against the arm of the couch where he had slumped down to the point that she was practically laying atop him. She had never seen him look so peaceful. It occurred to her to wonder if her presence in his arms had anything to do with that peaceful look - she couldn't deny that it probably did. It both touched her and further aroused her. Never before had anyone been so devoted to her as she could no longer deny that Booth obviously was. Why did that send a new flood of arousal straight to her core? Her breathing only became more shallow, her heart rate picking up.

Should she wake him up? The thought was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying, and she dismissed it immediately.

Her eyes crept lower, down the slightly rugged column of his throat, thinking about her dream and wondering if he would notice if she licked him there just one time to see if reality matched the dream...could the man possibly taste as good as he smelled? Was it scientifically possible?

Continuing down, her eyes dropped lower, from his throat down to where the t-shirt he wore hid his perfectly sculpted chest from her. No matter. The shirt didn't hide everything. The biceps that emerged from the short sleeves and descended down to the forearms that wrapped around her waist were thick and strong even in sleep, and she couldn't resist bringing a hand up to touch one. While satisfying, she wanted more and she didn't fight the urge to let her hand travel down to a strong forearm, reaching almost behind herself to caress one against her back, feeling his muscles jump a little in response even in his sleep. Carefully inching her body a little farther up his so she could reach his throat, her head bent of its own volition, her nose nuzzling at the side of his neck, inhaling deeply. She had wanted to touch him there for longer than she could even remember...

The throbbing in her sex was becoming almost unbearable. Stifling a groan, she did something she wouldn't have believed she would ever be doing while resting on her sleeping partner. Raising up a little more and reaching a hand between them, she began moving it down her body, intent on just taking the edge off of her arousal. If she could just get her thighs apart a little more, between his quite pleasingly solid ones...

She froze halfway down her stomach as she realized that her hand was stroking down his body just as much as her own, due to the very small amount of distance she had been able to put between their bodies. Stopping on its travels, her hand gave in to temptation and explored rock-hard abdominal muscles that she had just been dreaming about licking. Carefully watching his breathing, her hand slipped just a little lower, brushing against the waistband of the sweatpants he wore...

"Booones..." the groan from his sleeping lips sounded so much like the one she had heard night after night in her dreams for over a year that her first reaction was to bite her lip and stifle her own groan.

But the sound also startled her into realizing what she was doing...

And what _was_ she doing? For one thing, she was taking advantage of her partner in his sleep because she was too afraid to let him touch her when he was awake.

She wasn't foolish - she had seen enough of his reactions since he admitted love for her that she was fairly certain he wouldn't be upset with her for touching him. He had just moaned her name in his sleep when he felt someone touching him in a semi-intimate way; there wasn't really any way of mistaking what that meant.

And he had, after all, told her that she had free rein to touch him any way she wished.

He would, however, probably prefer to be awake for it and know it was going on.

And therein lay the problem.

Her mind shot instantly back to that motel room. She had wanted him then, too. Or she had thought she did. But the moment he began kissing her in a way that said he wanted her too, terror had coursed through her veins.

And what exactly had changed? Nothing. Every time he crowded too close to her, or unintentionally put himself between her and an exit, panic would almost set in. His name was still being ripped from her lungs nightly in dreams, but as Angela would say 'not in a good way.' The nightmares were terrifying, and flashes of them still hit her during the day in his presence.

What exactly was she planning to do if she did wake him up? Because if he responded to her advances, as she didn't doubt he would, she was going to feel that same shot of terror and she was going to end up running. And Booth would blame himself _and_ be left unsatisfied after she got him worked up. It was unacceptable.

And yet her nipples were still hard and she still desperately needed to either touch herself or take a cold shower. She could still smell him. Staying there in his arms was not going to work no matter how tightly she clenched her thighs together. But what if he had another nightmare? She couldn't leave him there, not with him expecting to wake up and find her in his arms. She knew enough to know he would panic.

Remembering the sleeping bags she and Angela had just camped out in, she very carefully and slowly removed herself from Booth's embrace on the couch. He was still slightly propped up, which couldn't be healthy for his back. Gently, she tugged until she had him flat on his back, his head pillowed by the soft couch arm. He never even stirred, other than to reflexively reach out to pull her back when she first slipped from his embrace. She soothed him in the way she thought he might have soothed her - by bending and placing her lips on his forehead, shushing him softly until he stilled. She retrieved a blanket when she went to procure the sleeping bags, and spread that blanket over him before lying down on the floor next to him. His eyes fluttered, his body tensing as he called her name - his face was no longer quite so peaceful, and she thought she might know why.

Reaching up, she found his hand beneath the blanket and pulled it toward her, feeling his hand clasp gratefully and warmly around her own even in sleep. "I'm here, Booth. I'm here."

… ooo … ooo … ooo

 _"But if I didn't do anything, then why…"_

 _"I did."_

Silence reigned in the moments after her two whispered words, as he sat staring at her and trying to figure out just exactly how he was supposed to ask his next question and find out _exactly_ what had happened.

Oh, he had the general idea. It wasn't him who had done something. _She_ had. Maybe he wasn't a genius, but he didn't have to be one to catch the implication of that simple 2-word statement. Her face told him a lot of what he needed to know about the exact nature of what she had done. And he didn't need a doctorate to tell him that _this_...this was going to change everything: his entire approach, some of his fears - _ev-er-y-thing._ And _everything_ was exactly what he intended to find out about what had happened. He had a feeling it was going to be important later.

His first concern, however, was to keep her from running out of his apartment in the middle of the night, which he was fairly certain she was about half of a heartbeat from doing.

Sure enough, she was already nervously standing to her feet. "Maybe I should go, Booth. We can talk about this tomorrow."

Like hell.

"Sit down, Bones." His voice was gentle, but his tone left no question that he meant it. She had heard that inflection in his voice before, but never directed at her. Eyes wide, she sat.

"We're not waiting for tomorrow to talk about this."

… ooo … ooo …

It was going to be the most important interrogation of his life, but now that Booth had taken care of making sure his intended target wasn't going to run out on him before he could even ask the first question, he had no idea how to proceed.

He had sounded so sure of himself when he commanded her to sit and informed her that they were _going_ to have this discussion - but his hands had already started shaking and his mouth had gone dry before the words were even completely out of his mouth.

Half of him hadn't really expected her to listen and do what he said; he had already been preparing himself to give chase, if for no other reason than the fact that if she thought he was letting her leave his apartment and go running around D.C. by herself at 3 o'clock in the damn morning she had really lost her mind. It wasn't like he was actually going to _force_ her to talk to him.

But now that she _had_ sat down, at least temporarily, the ball was fully in his court and he felt that responsibility weighing heavily on him. He was going to have to push just hard enough to get the full truth from her, but it was going to be an awful lot like walking a tightrope. Blindfolded. Without a net. Because if he pushed just the tiniest bit too hard on this particular topic, she was going to lock up tight. He could see it in her eyes and in the tension evident in her frame. On the other hand, if he gave in and let her off the hook by being _too_ careful, he was going to miss hearing something vital and he knew it.

Studying her carefully, he tried to take his heart out of the equation so he could size her up and read her like he would a suspect. He didn't want to do that with her, but it was his only option: if he didn't take a calculating approach, he was going to fold under the desperation in her eyes to find a way out of this, and he was going to do it fast.

But that fact notwithstanding, the first thing he still needed to do was calm her down a little bit. Just the fact that she had lost control in some way had to be making her feel vulnerable enough. The fact that it was probably going to be tantamount to admitting need or at the very least desire for him had to make it even worse. That just wasn't the type of thing she was quick to admit, not with emotions involved. So asking her immediately what it was she had done and demanding an answer wasn't the safest way to start, no matter how eager he was to hear it.

He had sat up and moved both of his feet to the floor in that moment she had stood up ready to bolt, wanting every advantage if he had to catch her. She was now sitting next to him, about a foot of space between them, looking for all the world like she might still make a dash for the door at any moment. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his fingers together. He glanced down at them for a moment as he bounced one knee, letting a wry smile cross his features as he looked sideways at her.

"A little ironic, huh, Bones?"

As he had hoped, it wasn't the approach she had expected and a flash of curiosity sparked in her eyes, some of her tension ebbing as he purposely lightened the tone and she saw his smile. He tamped down on the little stab of guilt that told him he was being manipulative. He really wasn't trying to be; he just knew her too well, and he really did want her to relax and talk to him. The point wasn't to torture her, after all.

"What do you mean?"

He held her gaze, still looking sideways at her, his smile growing just a little more sheepish. "You've been trying to make me talk about anything related to sex for four years now; but the one time you'd rather avoid the topic, I'm the one insisting we talk about it."

That actually drew a tiny smile from her - she could appreciate the irony of that. "This isn't just about sex, Booth."

His eyebrow shot up, his smile more genuine now. He was outwardly calm, but on the inside he felt like he had just scored the winning goal in the Stanley cup - she was finally getting it. Whatever discomfort was going to ensue as a result of this conversation, it was already more than worth it to hear those 6 little words from her.

"Isn't that my line, Bones?"

She actually gave a small chuckle, shaking her head at him a little bit shyly as she did so. She was studying him carefully, despite the lingering remnants of her smile, and he was surprised to hear what she said next. "You're not angry?"

His own smile faded. It hadn't even occurred to him that she might think that, mostly because there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he could ever be upset that the woman he loved had finally shown some sign that she desired him as much as he desired her. Suddenly, he felt a little bad for how harshly he had ordered her to sit on the couch. He could only imagine how she had taken that if she were already feeling guilty.

"Angry? God, no, Bones. I mean, I don't even know yet exactly what you did, but I can promise you I'm not angry about it and I won't be. If anything, I'm...relieved."

"Relieved? Why?" she asked curiously, and he realized just how badly they did need to have this discussion if she truly couldn't understand why he would be relieved that she wanted to touch him after everything that had happened and the way things had been going at the time.

"Why don't you tell me first exactly what happened? I mean, I think I have the basic idea, but..." he trailed off, finally turning himself to face her fully. "I'd like to hear it from you."

He watched her swallow, fascinated by her nervousness at what had always seemed to be such a comfortable topic for her. Since when was Temperance Brennan uncomfortable with a discussion that involved sex, especially one rife with opportunity to make him squirm like a fish on a hook? Everything that happened to her in Albania clearly played a part in that, but Booth thought - _hoped_ \- maybe it also had to do with the words she had just spoken: that it made her so uncomfortable because it finally _was_ about more than just sex for her. The fact that she finally truly _understood_ that took her out of her element and left her in unfamiliar territory; and left him ecstatic.

After a moment, she hesitantly began. "During the night, I had a dream."

That actually wasn't where he had expected her to go. His ego had been hoping for something more along the lines of a seductive, purred 'I just found you so irresistible I couldn't sleep and couldn't keep my hands off of you for one more second… _Seeley_ ,' followed by a repeat performance of whatever-the-hell had happened. That would have been nice.

But hearing her say 'dream,' his mind shifted track and concern filled his eyes instantly.

"I thought you said you didn't have a nightmare that night."

"I didn't," she clarified. "I had a dream." Seeing he still didn't understand, she fidgeted a little in her seat. "An...erotic dream. About you - us."

His mouth fell open slightly, too flabbergasted to even notice the monumental fact that Temperance Brennan was _stammering._ She had dreamed about - wait, she had no control over a dream; why would that make her look so guilty? Unless afterward she had...

Oh.

Yeah. Okay. Maybe not his original choice, but that would work too.

"What, um - in the dream, were we..."

Why wasn't he making sense, and what the hell was that gesture his hands were doing? And why couldn't he stop?

Her eyes grew very determined, and that should have warned him that his discomfort was only about to grow. She was compartmentalizing, putting herself into scientific mode so that she could outline the facts as though she were giving him the details of a crime scene.

That could only mean she was going to be blunt as hell.

Helpful for her.

Bad for him.

"We did not engage in sexual intercourse, if I understand your question correctly, although as we were both fully unclothed that was clearly the intent had the dream continued. I awoke, however, just as you began to perform cunnilingus."

He couldn't have moved even if the room had caught on fire. All he could do was stare at her. She had been sleeping on top of him, dreaming about him naked and going down on her? He was going to be needing so many more details than that...

 _Stop it. Focus. Nod your head. Ask a question. Pick your chin up off the floor. Ask a_ _lot_ _of questions..._

His brain had just gone completely off the rails.

It really wasn't fair that she was the one in the hot seat and yet he was the one who could barely function while she looked so damn calm. No matter how he tried, he couldn't come up with a question to ask that could sanely be considered appropriate or necessary. He had already read between the lines; so he was pretty sure that asking exactly what he had been doing with his tongue to get her so hot and bothered that she couldn't control herself when she woke up was not a vital question. At that moment.

Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on one's perspective - she had begun her narrative and was now intent on finishing it. "I was still quite aroused, and when I discovered our close proximity I found myself desiring to touch you."

For the first time since she had started, her ability to separate herself from what she was describing seemed to fail her. In fact, he thought that she was beginning to look for all the world like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar as she waited for his response to her next words. "And so I...did."

He had to clear his throat twice before his voice would work. "What, um - when you say you touched me..." Irritation filled him as he watched his hands gesture in a questioning way, trying to fill in the blanks for his rapidly decreasing vocabulary. He was a 40-year-old man. He really had to stop with the adolescent gesturing.

She locked eyes with him, and he saw one more flash of determination in her eyes. God bless her, at least one of their brains was still functioning. It was just that every time she opened her mouth, his brain stopped functioning just a little more.

"I didn't originally intend to take advantage of you, Booth. At first I only touched your arms and neck. After that, I reached my hand between us fully intending to touch _myself_ rather than touching you any more while you slept."

She said that as though it should make him feel _better._

Mental overload didn't begin to describe what he was going through. Now not only had she been dreaming of his mouth on her while she was stretched out on top of him, she had also intended to pleasure herself with her fingers while she lay there on him, lusting for him, fully a-goddamn-wake?

Why in God's name had he thought that having this conversation with her in the middle of the night was a good idea? Why had he thought it was a good idea _ever?_ And God help him, she was talking again...

"However, our bodies were quite close together and when I reached between us, I accidentally brushed your abdominal muscles and then began touching you again instead. When I reached the waistband of your pants, you called my name in your sleep and I realized that what I was doing was wrong and I should stop. I'm sorry, Booth." Compartmentalization had failed her, and she actually seemed more than a little embarrassed and contrite by the time she apologized.

A very flustered, way-too-high-pitched voice was coming from somewhere, and he suddenly realized it was him. "Sorry? Why?" He really hadn't meant that to sound quite so dumbstruck, like he thought her apology was ridiculous and could she please just do it _again_ , but fortunately she seemed oblivious to his tone and just took the question at face value.

She was biting her lip, looking a little nervous to answer that question, and he knew _right then_ that he was going to regret that ill-considered question.

"I'm sorry because had you not said my name, it's unlikely that I would have stopped."

His eyes got so big that apparently she felt the need to elaborate further. "I believe that I intended to take advantage of the situation and..." Her mouth twisted as she searched for the words, and he thought for one horrifying second that the words 'your penis' were going to come out of her pretty, maddening little mouth. Fortunately, even she seemed to think better of it. "And touch you inappropriately."

He exhaled deeply, his head dropping to stare at the floor between his feet as he tried to regain control of his reeling brain so that he could regain control of the conversation. Absently, he remembered that utter bullshit that had gone through his mind at the beginning of this, about how by asking the questions he would be the one in control of the conversation. What in the last four years of his life had made him think _that_ was a possibility?

But in all seriousness, he needed to get his mind off all of the brain-short-circuiting mental imagery she had just unwittingly provided him, and choose his next words very carefully. This was far too important to get hung up on the wrong thing.

After another deep breath, he had at least an idea of the direction he wanted to take the conversation. "You asked me earlier why I was relieved instead of angry."

She leaned forward slightly, clearly eager to hear the answer. "It does seem to be an incongruous reaction."

His lips pulled up just slightly at her words, not bothering to hide it from her. He wasn't sure if he should tell her what he was about to tell her, but part of him still believed she needed to know. "Partly because I should have just asked you a long time ago, Bones, instead of jumping to conclusions. I've driven myself crazy thinking that I did something to _you_ that night."

Her brow furrowed. "Why did you think that?"

Taking another deep breath, he decided to just level with her once again. He just _thought_ he did a lot of confessing at church. The confessional had nothing on what he had been called upon to do lately with Bones.

"Bones, the main reason I never told you a long time ago that I love you is because I was afraid you would run. I was scared to death that you'd take off. Or even worse, that if I made a move we'd spend one amazing night together and then I'd wake up and you'd be gone; or even if you stayed, you'd tell me it was just sex for the purpose of satisfying biological urges. It could never be that for me with you, Bones. You know that, right?"

Her face was serious. "I know. I'm not going to do that to you. I'm not going to run, Booth."

He looked deeply into her eyes, all of the other stuff forgotten. This was what was most important to him. "I know. I know that now, Bones. I do. But when I woke up in your apartment alone that morning, it still scared the hell out of me."

"I left you a note." She sounded more perplexed than defensive.

He nodded, a tiny smile appearing on his face at the memory of that extremely efficient little note, as he carefully reached out and took her hand. "But then I never could get you on the phone all day, and you canceled lunch, therapy and then dinner. I panicked, Bones. It's no excuse for how I treated you, but I thought I was losing you completely - our partnership, our friendship, everything. And then when I thought you were suggesting that you wanted to work through things with another man, I..."

He made a conscious effort to loosen his suddenly tight grip on her hand before finishing his sentence, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "I completely lost it. I'm sorry, Bones, but since we're being honest with each other I may as well go ahead and tell you this. The idea of you with any other guy is always going to have that effect on me. I know I don't own you - I _know_ that, and that's not what I'm saying here - but ever since you told me you love me, even hearing about some other guy in the same sentence as you just makes me want to tell the world you're _mine_ now _._ Just like I'm yours."

She worked on processing that for a few moments, and to his surprise she didn't argue with his possessiveness or do him any physical harm. "But Sweets said you were acting that way because you blamed yourself for my kidnapping."

Booth shrugged one shoulder. "He never said that was the _only_ reason. I do still think that a lot of what happened in Albania could have been different if I'd told you the truth a long time ago. I'll always think that, Bones, and I'll always regret it. But I didn't tell Sweets everything. When I couldn't get in touch with you, I started thinking that maybe the reason you moved onto the floor that night and why you suddenly seemed to be avoiding me was that maybe I had done something to you in my sleep."

She sat processing everything he had said, and he saw the moment that the next question formed in her mind. "I still don't understand why you're relieved instead of angry."

Booth took a deep breath before unloading his insecurities on her, suddenly understanding how vulnerable she had felt at the beginning of this conversation. "Bones, it's a relief because...because I wasn't sure if you...you know..." This was even harder than he thought it would be to tell her.

Her eyes were locked on him, clearly eager for him to clarify as she answered him literally. "No - I don't know."

Booth closed his eyes for strength for just a moment before fixing them fully on her. "Bones, even before I loved you I wanted you. But I had no idea if you ever felt the same way, or if you even were attracted to me _before_ Albania. And afterward...even when you said you loved me, I've been wondering if..."

"If I physically desired you?"

He could read nothing from her expression. "If you even still could after what I did; if you even wanted to."

The raw vulnerability in his face at that admission made her heart start pounding. He had been so strong for her throughout everything, helping her fight her own insecurities and fears, that she had never really considered that he might have some of his own other than what they had discussed in Sweets' office.

Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to reassure him, no matter what she had to admit. She found herself moving toward him, first only a little bit and then so close beside him that to get any closer she'd have to be in his lap.

"It happened again tonight," she whispered, and watched his eyes grow large.

"You had another dream?"

"No."

"You touched me while I was asleep?"

"No. Before we went to sleep."

Confusion furrowed his brow. She touched him then? He was pretty sure he would remember that...

"I - _what_ was before we went to sleep?"

"I _wanted_ to touch you. I wanted to...move things forward, as you said."

His heart was racing 90 miles an hour. She wasn't talking about sex, was she? It was too soon and he knew it - and he wouldn't have let her take things too far even if she had tried. But she had given him no indications _at all_ that she was aroused by him. Did she realize herself that it was too soon? Or was it something else?

"Bones, I...what exactly did you want? And what stopped you?"

Her eyes dropped, and he knew - he _knew_ \- that whatever was going through her mind was something he had to hear.

"I wanted to kiss you and touch you. I'm very attracted to you, Booth." She still wanted desperately to reassure him of that. "But I know that wouldn't have been fair to you."

He went very, very still. So she had just wanted to make out with him. How was that unfair to him? Surely she didn't mean...

"What wouldn't be fair to me?"

She wasn't exactly looking at him anymore, and he needed her to, frantically. "Bones?"

"I'm not entirely certain that I could carry through, Booth, without having the same reaction I did when you found me in the motel room. It's not fair to you to start something that I can't finish." Her eyes came back up to him as she finished a little more confidently: "I realized that I should wait to initiate any more physical contact until I can also engage in intercourse so that you are not left unsatisfied. I don't want to be a tease."

His head was spinning. For one thing, how did she even know that word? _Angela...I'd bet my life on it._

He had thought they were on the same page, but clearly that belief had been so far off base that it was ridiculous. "Bones - Jesus...that is _not_ what I meant when I said taking things slow. I didn't mean that we would keep our hands completely off one another until suddenly one day you're healed and we can go from 0 to 60 in four seconds. I knew it wouldn't work like that."

She looked truly confused by his 0 to 60 analogy. "I don't know what that means."

Frustrated, he turned his body slightly to face her, as much as he could considering how close she was already sitting to him. He was determined to make her know once and for all _exactly_ what he did and did not expect. "It means that I knew there would be some false starts and I'd be taking a lot of cold showers," he answered bluntly. "It means that we do this a little bit at a time, and that no matter _how_ far things get, when you get uncomfortable that's the _end_ of it. I don't care _when_ it is or how far things go. I don't care if it's tomorrow and I'm just holding your hand, and I also don't care if it's six months or a year or even farther down the road and I'm inside you for the first time, Bones. If you say 'stop' I will, and you have nothing to apologize for. That's not being a tease. I wouldn't _want_ you to push yourself to finish something for my sake." The very idea made him turn pale as he imagined her gritting her teeth and just _enduring_ his touch because she didn't think she could say 'no' without upsetting him. "God...please don't do that, Bones. I'd never forgive myself. Promise me you won't try to force yourself to do anything before you're ready just for my sake. Promise me."

His intensity pulled the promise out of her before she even realized what she was saying. "I promise."

He calmed down a little at that. "What I'm trying to say is that this is going to be a trial and error thing, and I'm prepared for that. Do you think that I don't know it's going to be hard for both of us the first time I kiss your neck or the first time we're in a bed together? Or the first time I'm on top of you? I _know_ that, Bones. It probably scares me as bad as it does you, because God knows I'd sooner die than hurt you. You don't have to put on an act for me. If it takes 1000 times to get it right and I end up taking 1000 cold showers, then you still don't need to worry about what's fair to me. And if you want to touch me in the meantime, then touch me and don't worry about anything, and stop when you want to stop. But you _have_ to be honest with me. I need you to let me know what you're comfortable with and what you're not. I can't take a chance on guessing about this, Bones. Do you understand me now?"

His eyes were searching hers so intently that it made her breath hitch. "Yes."

She sat looking at him so long, that his heart started to race again.

"Bones? Could you say something, please? What's going through that mind of yours?"

"I believe that I understand now why you're not angry that I took advantage of you."

Her face was so serious, her words filled with so much gravity, that he just couldn't help it - his face broke out in an adoring smile. "All right. Number one, stop saying it that way. You didn't take advantage of me, Bones. It's not even possible, okay?

She nodded solemnly, seeming to accept that. "You _did_ tell me prior to that night that I was free to touch you in any manner that I chose," she reminded him.

If he hadn't thought she was so ridiculously cute when she started justifying herself, he'd have rolled his eyes. Only Bones. _Only_ Bones. One tiny apology earlier, and she had already found a way for it to be his fault. Instead, his eyes only sparkled a little more as he gave her hand a squeeze and winked at her. "And that still applies." He saw that she was stifling a yawn, and he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him affectionately. "Let's go back to sleep, Bones. We can talk more tomorrow. But could you just do one thing for me?"

Innocently, she agreed as she leaned into him and they swung their feet up on the couch and began to settle back in. She noticed the wicked smirk on his face just a second too late.

"I realize I'm irresistible and all, but maybe the next time you're overcome with the temptation to get your hands on me, you could at least control yourself long enough to wake me up first, huh?"

Her eyes narrowed, and he was quite certain he had pushed the line with his cockiness and she was going to bring him down a notch or ten. And he was right. Regarding him appraisingly, she shook her head. "I said I was very attracted to you, Booth. I never implied that you were irresistible."

That time he did roll his eyes, quite theatrically. "Just keep telling yourself that, Bones."

A tiny smirk appeared on her face, along with a tiny hint of sarcasm in her voice that secretly delighted him. "I've managed to resist you quite well for four years. That alone disproves your theory of irresistibility."

"Yeah. Says the woman who was feeling me up in my sleep."

He was ready for it that time...

"Oww! Jeez, Bones, maybe I should reconsider this. I never thought you would be the abusive type."

"Good night, Booth."

The exchange left him unsatisfied for their last words of the night. Earlier, they had agreed on 'something in between' - more than partners, but less than what they both eventually wanted. How did he draw the distinction? How did he make this part as special for her as he could too? A plan began to form in his mind - and why wait until tomorrow to start?

"Hey, Bones? You said I could kiss you, right?"

Her breath caught in her throat. He had yet to initiate a real kiss between them. "Yes."

"Can I kiss you good night?"

She turned her face up to him, wondering exactly why she was holding her breath.

He bent his head down and, just as he had earlier, took advantage of his new freedom only by pressing a sweet, soft kiss against her cheek, just beside the corner of her mouth this time. "G'night, Bones. Love you."

… ooo … ooo … ooo

Knowing that he hadn't done anything to her the last night they spent together had taken a huge weight off of Booth's shoulders. Knowing that she had the hots for him did even more to make him feel better. Maybe they still had a long way to go, but it was a lot shorter trip to get there from 'she wants me but it's going to take time' than it was from 'how could she ever want me at all.' Forgetting his earlier panic-induced promise to himself that he was never sleeping in her presence again, he fell asleep with her in his arms far more easily than he would have thought possible after all of the self-torment he had put himself through. It was some of the best sleep of his life, even if his back was going to be protesting loudly the next day. Maybe it had something to do with knowing exactly where she was and that she was safe, and that his feelings were returned.

The next time he was conscious of anything, he was flat on his back under a warm blanket and someone was calling his name and shaking him awake. As he always did when awakened suddenly, he sat almost straight up, ready and alert to defend himself, not relaxing until he was met with surprised blue eyes.

"Booth! It's me."

"Bones! Sorry...I'm sorry." She didn't look overly alarmed as she stayed kneeling by the couch, so he was more immediately concerned with why she was fully dressed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. I have an early breakfast meeting with my publisher, and I need to go home first to shower." She gave him that crooked smile he loved, with just a hint of shyness behind it. "I'm sorry to wake you up, but I just...wanted to let you know."

He wanted to grab her and hug her. She had been _listening_ the night before, and she was obviously now making an effort to reassure him. He dropped back down onto his back instead, a slow, satisfied smile creeping across his face as he folded one arm back behind his head and got comfortable looking up at her. "I'm glad you did. You sleep okay, Bones?" he asked in a voice that was still low and gravelly with that just-awakened quality.

That earned him the type of smile he had only seen from her in his fantasies...a hungry, sexy one that took its time spreading across her lips. "Mmm...quite well." He couldn't help noticing how her eyes wandered to his mouth as she spoke, then back to his eyes for just a moment before straying sideways, across his bicep where it lay beside his head, and then down his chest to where the blanket covered him from mid-chest down. He was more thankful for that blanket by the second, even if it was getting a little warm in the room.

Suddenly, he was also rather thankful that she kept waking up before him and removing herself before he could wake up, no matter how nice it would be to wake up with her in his arms. There were certain completely uncontrollable logistical considerations to that whole 'waking-up-with-Bones-in-the-morning' thing that he hadn't really thought through too well.

Conversation. Quickly. Because if she kept looking at him like she wanted to eat him alive, he was going to forget how and turn into a babbling, gesturing idiot again. "So did we prove your theory? Does proximity ease the nightmares?"

"The results so far seem to support that theory," she told his curled bicep, where her eyes had finally set up camp. Seeming to catch herself, she swapped focus to his eyes, which were lit with a curious mixture of heat and amusement. "But to be valid, an experiment must be repeatable."

She watched mesmerized as his eyes darkened slightly, his free hand coming up to stroke her cheek. "Oh, it's repeatable, Bones. It's very repeatable." It was repeatable every damn night for the rest of his life if she wanted it. He'd gladly be the one to chase her nightmares away, along with anything else that dared try to harm her.

"Your back might disagree, Booth."

"My back's never felt better, Bones," he lied happily. No way was he suggesting or even agreeing to move their co-sleeping into a bed. Not yet. That was definitely on his list of 'things-to-take-very-slowly,' considering that it was a bed where he had traumatized her in the first place.

But there was even less chance that he was giving her up at night at that point either, not as long as she was content to be with him. A stiff back from sleeping on the couch was a small price to pay. But she clearly didn't believe him, so it was time to distract her. "Besides, I know this really hot doctor who I can get to fix it for me anyway."

She caught onto his game, one eyebrow quirking as she moved up to sit on the edge of the couch by his hip. "Short blonde chiropractor?"

He feigned a shudder. "Nope; doesn't do it for me. She's actually a tall brunette forensic anthropologist and best selling author."

That teasing smile on her lips was something he could _definitely_ get used to. "Impressive. It sounds as though your taste in women has improved recently. I can certainly understand your attraction to her."

"Yeah, well, I don't have a chance with her."

He could barely keep a straight face as her smile became quizzical and she continued to play along, walking right into his trap. "I find that difficult to believe. You possess multiple qualities that make you quite desirable as a mate, as well as being very physically appealing. I feel that it's...highly likely she's attracted to you as well."

If he hadn't already put so much effort into setting her up, he'd have been perfectly happy to melt at the _very_ thinly veiled compliment, and just stick his chest out and bask in the fact that she thought he was hot. He'd never have believed he'd be so happy to hear himself described as a desirable 'mate,' and a 'physically appealing' one at that. Jesus, what had this woman done to him?

"Thanks, Bones, but she's way out of my league. Plus, she's got the hots for her completely irresistible FBI partner. Can't keep her hands off the guy."

"Booth!" she protested, laughing at the same time. It was a sound he dearly loved being the cause of.

"She even attacked the poor guy in his sleep!"

Before the teasing words were even fully out of his mouth, he watched her eyes narrow and braced himself, seeing the gleam in her eye that said she was about to playfully jab him somehow again. In his more relaxed state, with the freeing knowledge that things weren't quite as bad as he had thought, instinct took over. The arm under his head shot out and caught her hand in his, playfully pulling it up and away from his ribcage toward the couch beside his head. All he succeeded in doing was tugging her off balance and making her fall forward against him, her other casted hand flying up and bracing against his chest to catch herself, leaving her face just inches from his and her weight resting on him as the smiles faded from both their faces.

He hadn't really meant to topple her and make her land on him, and he froze instantly, letting go of his grip on her hand. His heart felt like it had stopped as he instantly opened his mouth, ready to apologize and start damage control. "Bones..." he started, wondering what the hell he had been thinking.

But she made no move to pull her hand away from his, leaving it laying in his open palm beside his head. She made no move to pull her body away from on top of him either, and it was with amazement that he noticed how her breath had quickened and her eyes had become a darker shade of blue he hadn't seen before. Without his permission, his other hand came up to touch her face again, pushing her hair back behind her ear as his thumb brushed her cheekbone.

Her eyes danced across his lips one more time, and he could have sworn she shivered just a tiny bit as she leaned her head just barely perceptibly into his touch. "I need to go. I'm going to be late."

His eyes had made their way to her mouth in return, but they danced with happy amusement as he figured out that her reaction had nothing to do with fear. "Nobody's stopping you, Bones."

He watched with fascination as a slightly flushed color rose in her cheeks and still she hadn't moved. "Would you be available to assist me in gathering more evidence for my theory tonight?"

Hell, yes. "Your couch or mine?" he accepted quickly.

He desperately hoped she'd choose to stay with him instead of him with her. His couch was so much friendlier to his back, and there was just something about having her there, at his place, surrounded by his things, wrapped in his arms, on his couch - and some day in his bed. It just really made him feel like she truly and finally was _his._ There was almost undoubtedly some anthropological reason for that which would label him to be even more of a caveman than she already thought him to be, but he didn't really care. He still liked it. And he already knew he liked seeing her in his clothes, once the initial crisis had passed and everything was okay.

Much to his disappointment, she pulled back then, her face composed as she rose to her feet and prepared to go. "You choose. You're the one with the fragile back."

"Fragile?" he repeated, pushing up to an elbow, watching her button her coat. "I am _not_ fragile, Bones."

"There's no shame in having a medical condition, Booth."

"A medical condition? You make it sound like I'm some type of invalid!" he pouted.

"We have an appointment with Sweets at 4:00. Perhaps we should discuss your reluctance to admit weakness."

"Why do you have to bring Sweets into everything? My back is fine, Bones!"

With a triumphant smile on her face as she finished buttoning her coat, she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek much like he had kissed her the night before. What gave him the chills was the way she lingered against his skin for just a moment before she kissed him, her hot breath feeling like it practically singed him as she told him almost right in his ear: "In that case, I suppose you have no interest in a massage from your hot doctor tonight."

She was halfway to his door before he recovered enough mentally to throw the blanket off and jump to his feet to follow her to the door, cringing when he straightened fully and thought for just a minute that he was going to die from the pain that shot through his back. But no way was she kissing _him_ and walking out that door without him returning the favor. "Hey, Bones, hold up..."

He gave an exaggerated shuffle/run over to the door, secretly loving the smirk on her face at having turned the tables on him and having repaid him for his earlier teasing. That smirk became more pronounced and less amusing to him, however, when her eyes dropped to the obvious tent in his sweatpants from his morning erection - something that he had almost completely forgotten about in his mad dash to catch her. His witty retort about her just wanting another excuse to grope him died in his throat.

Fortunately, one of them wasn't speechless.

"You could have just _told_ me you were still interested in that massage, Booth."

Of all the reactions she could have had, smug amusement at his predicament certainly wasn't the worst. It wasn't the least embarrassing reaction she could have had, either, but at least he wasn't freaking her out or making her uncomfortable, at least not that he could tell. So considering the alternative, he'd gladly take whatever verbal abuse she intended to dish out. He'd already done most everything else he could think of for her and would do a hell of a lot more, so why balk at humiliation and letting her have her fun?

It still beat the hell out of being naked in front of her while sporting a beer hat.

Shifting his weight uncomfortably, he remained composed other than not being able to find a place to put his arms - by his side, crossed across his chest; there wasn't really a position that seemed to do anything other than almost comically highlight his problem. He ended up with hands on hips and a red face. "Cute, Bones. That your best shot? I was sort of expecting the scientific textbook on what causes it."

She shrugged, looking utterly calm other than the slight flush that still lit her cheeks - and the way her eyes kept losing their battle to stay _up._ "I could explain it if you like. I just assumed that at your advanced age you would have figured that out already. You do have a son, after all."

He gave his best effort at looking hurt, his eyes narrowing. No freaking way was he giving her credit for yet another verbal victory. She was already way too proud of herself. "Advanced age? Ouch. That's not nice, Bones. I crawled out of my warm bed with an aching back just to kiss you goodbye, and this is the way you treat me?"

He loved the way that she kept saying she needed to leave, but seemed perfectly content to keep going back and forth with him. That reluctance to actually walk out the door and away from him told him a lot. It was the way he usually felt when he had to walk away from her. "Technically that was your couch, not a bed; and you indicated that your back was, as you put it, fine. And I already kissed you goodbye once."

"Come here, Bones," he asked softly, ignoring her rebuttal and changing the tone of the discussion.

"Why?" she asked, but she was already moving in his direction; he hid a smile when he saw the way her eyes instantly focused on his mouth again. She had been doing that a _lot_. Had she only started to do so, or had he just always explained things away before?

"Because apparently I'm both old and fragile and I can't come to you." He knew it'd make her laugh, but mostly he just didn't want to risk making her feel trapped by advancing on her so close to the door, especially considering his already stated intent to kiss her and the fact that he was still noticeably at about half mast despite the humiliation he was experiencing. Best to let her come to him.

She stopped directly in front of him, looking at him expectantly. Slowly, he leaned in and brushed his lips across her skin almost directly on the corner of her mouth, lingering there just like she had done as he spoke. "Drive safe, Bones. I love you."

He had to hide another half smile when he heard her almost exasperated exhalation as he pulled away without touching her lips, already turning to make his way to his bedroom to take a long shower and start getting ready for work. It wasn't like he was going back to sleep any time soon.

It wasn't really such a surprise when he heard her voice call after him. She could be pretty direct, after all, so it was a little surprising that it had taken her _that_ long. "Booth, why do you keep kissing me on the cheek? I told you it was all right to kiss me."

"Last time I checked, that _was_ a kiss," he called over his shoulder, not turning back to look at her until he was just about to disappear around the corner. "Want me to pick you up for our appointment with Sweets?"

"That's fine," she agreed, not really paying attention to what she was saying.

"You're gonna be late, Bones," he smiled, and disappeared into his bedroom.

… ooo … ooo …

He took a long, hot shower, letting the water pound into his aching muscles. Foremost on his mind was the conversation he had had with Angela the day before, after some of the giddiness of a night shared with Bones began to subside.

He wasn't going to let himself gloss over anything this time. Although he had only discussed it in passing with Bones, he still hadn't forgotten about what Angela had told him. Maybe being close to him did help keep the nightmares away, but the fact was that Bones had spent the entire previous weekend having them so badly that she couldn't sleep. And they had been about _him_.

There was a good chance that her nightmare-free night with him was due more to exhaustion than his presence, much as he would like to believe otherwise. That damn cast on her hand was glaring evidence, not allowing him to forget for very long at a time that she was still far from healed.

Even more concerning was how to handle the growing physical attraction between them. Bones had made it very plain that she was deeply attracted to him. It was a good problem to have, but at the same time it was one he needed to handle carefully. She had a tendency to go after things that she wanted with singular focus. He loved the idea of being the target of that focus more than he could put into words, but under the circumstances it could get them both into trouble. She was already impatient with his kisses on the cheek.

That thought, at least, brought a smile to his face. She was going to be getting even more impatient with them before he was done. But they had agreed to something "in between", and he was determined to keep a distinction there. Maybe she no longer thought there needed to be one, but that word "long-term" was still just too enticing and too absolutely-fucking-imperative to risk moving things too fast. He did have a plan, however, that he thought might help her understand a little better. And he needed to hurry if he was going to enact it before she got to her office.

Emerging from the shower with all of those thoughts still swirling in his mind, he managed to get dressed and ready for work. The hot water had eased the ache in his back somewhat, and he was feeling almost normal by the time he was ready to leave.

He had left the guest bathroom light on the night before to give them a little light, in case she woke up wondering where she was; or in case she had a nightmare or flashback, and he needed to be able to see to calm her down and protect her. As he passed by to turn that light off on his way out of his apartment, something on the counter caught his eye. It was the pair of sweatpants he had given her to wear, neatly folded and left on the countertop.

It wasn't so much the pants, though, that had caught his attention. It was the complete absence of his shirt - the one with his name written all over it. He looked behind the door, all around the bathroom, in his bedroom drawer, and even went out of his way to check his laundry hamper by his washer. Nope. It was gone, but definitely not missing. He knew exactly where it was.

"Oh, Bones..."

Not much could have wiped the grin off his face as he made his way out the door to his SUV. Maybe it wasn't rocket science to figure out why he liked seeing her in it, but he didn't need a certain gorgeous anthropologist's expertise to tell him that there was something significant in the fact that she had chosen _that_ particular item to make off with, either.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Overall, Brennan's breakfast meeting with her publisher was an intensely frustrating one. Specifically, she was near tears by the time she left, although no one would have known it but her. She hid it carefully, as she normally did when emotion threatened to overwhelm her.

Her publisher had sounded extremely urgent the day before when requesting to meet with her. She had assumed that it had more to do with scheduling book signings, press tours, and the other pressing details that had become part of her life as a bestselling author, which she had been neglecting of late.

Never having been the object of almost scathing criticism of her work, she had never expected that her publisher might have been calling with grave concerns over the past few chapters she had finally messengered in only a few hours before the call.

She couldn't believe her own eyes when she saw the sheer number of mistakes highlighted on the pages - and not just typos. Among other remarks written in the margins were biting comments about the characters being near unrecognizable, the dialogue nonsensical, and - the most cutting blow of all - the science unbelievable and sloppy.

It had felt something of a victory to her to return to her writing after all that had happened to her; perhaps it was an illogical reaction, but she was somewhat proud of the fact that she had churned out three new chapters so quickly after such an ordeal - although she had certainly had plenty of time to work on it over the weekend she and Booth had been at odds, considering her lack of sleep. So it was an almost devastating blow to be told that her attempts were an utter failure.

She was aware that she had been struggling to retain focus ever since she had returned to work; but that was something she had largely been able to hide, other than one or two occasions where one of her interns had pointed out something she had missed in the examination of a skeleton. Even that, she had been able to turn into a teaching opportunity. But she had been unaware that her lack of focus had leached over into her writing.

She drove almost mechanically to the Jeffersonian from that meeting, after promising to rewrite the chapters that same day. Her phone began ringing just as she pulled into the Jeffersonian, and she was unsurprised to see the display flashing _"Booth"_ at her. Quickly hitting the button to ignore the call and let it go to voicemail, she ignored the flash of panic caused by the thought of trying to explain to him what was wrong.

Instead, she began gathering her things to go inside, ready to put aside all distraction and get her focus back where it belonged: on work. She had allowed herself to become far too distracted with other things. A flash of irritation hit her when the phone almost immediately began ringing again, her frown growing slightly when she saw that the display this time was flashing Sweets' number at her. Ignoring him too, she began making her way inside.

… ooo … ooo …

"Dr. Brennan!"

She didn't even make it to her office before she heard Cam calling, and turned to see her hurrying across the lab holding a file in her hand. As she reached Brennan, Cam stopped and hesitated, looking at the file in her hand before pulling it down and smiling a little too brightly.

"How have you been feeling, Dr. Brennan?"

Instantly, she felt defensive and irritated. This was a professional setting. Her personal life was not at issue. "I'm fine, Cam. Did you need to see me about anything important?"

Whatever it was, Cam clearly didn't want to tell her, her eyes focused on the red-ink filled manuscript clutched in Brennan's hand. Her look only grew more reluctant, as Brennan shifted the papers out of sight.

"That project that you helped Egyptology with?"

"Yes, the mummy from the 18th dynasty," Brennan snapped, not feeling at all bad for her harsh tone. "I completed my report and submitted it to them immediately. I don't see how this concerns you."

Cam's willingness to take that treatment off of her without question, combined with the pitying look on her face, only further increased Brennan's ire.

"This _is_ your report, Dr. Brennan. Egyptology sent it to me to request that you rewrite it."

"What?" She snatched the file from Cam's hands, her eyes growing wide and her back going stiff as she looked over the file and caught at least 10 mistakes, including one major miswording that changed the entire conclusion. She could already feel her cheeks flaming red. "Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I'll take care of it."

"Dr. Brennan, it was your first day back when you assisted..."

"I have quite a few matters to attend to, Dr. Saroyan. If there's nothing else..."

"There is. Something else." Cam looked like she would much rather be on a beach somewhere sipping a nice little Hawaiian drink, but she held her ground firmly, her tone even. "I just got an e-mail from Cullen's office. Based on Dr. Sweets' recommendation, you've been _temporarily_ pulled from FBI fieldwork pending a complete psychological evaluation by him. You probably have the same e-mail. I just thought maybe it would help to hear it from..."

"Is there anything else?"

Cam stopped in mid-word, pressing her lips into a thin line and shaking her head understandingly. "No, Dr. Brennan. That's all."

"Thank you." She began making her way rather stiffly to her office.

"Dr. Brennan..." Cam tried one more time, not even knowing what to say, but there was no response. With a sigh, she watched her best employee and the woman she had come to consider a friend, in some strange way, retreat toward her office.

… ooo … ooo …

"Hey, sweetie!" Angela stopped her just before she could reach her office, a huge smile on her face. "I've been looking for you. I take it last night went well."

"Did you need something, Angela?"

Angela's smile faded at the cutting tone. "All right, Bren. What's wrong? When I saw all the flowers, I assumed you and Booth had kissed and made up. Don't tell me he's already apologizing for something else."

"Flowers?" She said it as though she had never heard the word before.

Angela stared at her. "Yes, Bren, flowers. Lots of them. You haven't been in your office yet this morning? It's almost 9:30."

"I had a long breakfast meeting this morning," came the soft, distracted reply. "I just got here." She had too much work to do, too many mistakes to correct. She couldn't let her focus be pulled away again. And the last thing she wanted to do was walk into her office and find it had been invaded. At least not at that exact moment. She felt out of control enough as it was.

"Well let's go, Bren!" The smile was back on Angela's face. "I want to see your face, and you are _so_ letting me read the card. I swear, that man is just...mmm. I've never seen so many daisies in my life."

"Daisies?" She sounded like she had been punched in the stomach, and Angela looked at her strangely.

"Yes, daisies. You _love_ daisies. Booth sent you the world's biggest bouquet of a flower that you love."

After the 1-2-3 punches she had already taken to her figurative gut that morning, for some reason that was the final jarring blow. "They're not from Booth."

Angela looked a little bug-eyed. "Not from Booth? Bren, what in the world are you talking about? Of _course_ they're from Booth. Unless there's some other incredibly romantic, wonderful, amazingly hot guy who's crazy about you and too good to be true. In which case, pick one and I'll take the other."

Her eyes flitted just enough toward her dark office to make out the outline of the huge vase and the outrageously large arrangement in it - just enough to verify that they were, in fact, daisies and not daffodils, although it was unlikely that an artist wouldn't know the difference.

Why would Booth go to all the trouble to send a huge flower arrangement, only to send her _second_ favorite flower? Why did she even care? She cared nothing about flowers. She wouldn't have cared if Booth _never_ sent her flowers. It was an outdated, chauvinistic societal custom intended to make women indebted and subservient, or so she would have certainly told him loud and long if he had asked.

So why was she so irritated about him sending the _wrong_ ones? What did it matter if he had forgotten?

"I'm going home, Angela."

"Home?" It was Angela's turn to sound like she was listening to a foreign language.

"I need to work on my book and rewrite a report, and I can do so with less distraction there. Please let Dr. Saroyan know. I'll come in tonight to begin cursory examinations of the next most pressing cases from bone storage."

"O...kay. You're not even going to _look_ at the flowers?"

Her very, very bad morning, feelings of losing control, and Booth's name flashing on her cell phone as he tried to call her again made her even more harsh than she had really intended. "If you're so curious to read the card, Angela, Cam has a key. Get her to let you in."

And with that, she turned on her heel and went right back to her car.

… ooo … ooo …

Not even five minutes after she left, Booth came skidding around a nearby corner and almost knocked Cam down. "Cam! Is she here yet?"

"This is becoming a habit, Seeley." Knowing that the forensic anthropologist wasn't missing in any foreign country this time made her slightly amused at the frantic look on Booth's face. "Now, who are you looking for?" she teased.

"Not right now, Camille. I need to find her, preferably before Sweets does - or before I find _him,"_ he ground out. "I just hope she hasn't checked her e-mail."

The look on Cam's face gave her away instantly, and Booth's whole body stiffened. "Oh shit...you told her. Didn't you?"

"I didn't want her to find out through e-mail either, Seeley. So yes, I told her."

"I wish you'd have called me first. _Damnit_. When I get my hands on Sweets..."

"He's right, Booth."

"Excuse me?" he spat out furiously. "He dragged her in there yesterday against her will, on the threat that if she _didn't_ come he'd pull her field privileges."

"You were ready to do the same thing, as I recall, or do you not remember huffing and puffing and acting like you were going to throw her over your shoulder and drag her in there yourself?"

His nostrils flared in anger. "I didn't lie to her to get her there. She went in there on good faith, and then he pulls this crap anyway. He didn't even talk to me first!"

"My point is that you were _both_ right. You may argue with the boy wonder's methods, but that's where she needs to be, Seeley. I'm no expert, but she is not herself."

"What the hell are you talking about? That's ridiculous," he defended, despite the fact that he had been having the same thoughts earlier himself.

"For starters, I'm talking about the fact that she couldn't write a coherent sentence if her life depended on it."

He flinched, his eyes burning. "Watch it, Camille."

She held her hands up in surrender. "Okay. I'll rephrase. Egyptology sent me a copy of the report she wrote for them. Something is definitely wrong. There were holes in her findings that you could drive a truck through, and poorly worded holes at that. And I'm pretty sure that's not all."

The fire still burned in his eyes, but slightly muted with concern. "What?" he growled. "Tell me everything, Camille."

"She just got here not 10 minutes ago."

"Right," he waved off dismissively. "She had a meeting with her publisher."

"Right. And the whole time I was talking to her, she was holding tight to a stack of pages that looked like they came from her manuscript, with red ink all over it. I'm going out on a limb here, and guessing her publisher wasn't any happier with her new chapters than Egyptology was with her report. That would explain her mood when she got here."

He needed a target, and she was a convenient one. "And you told her about Cullen's e-mail anyway. That's great, Camille," he gritted out sarcastically.

"There's more." They both turned to see a very worried looking Angela. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but...I really wanted to hear," she bobbed one shoulder sheepishly.

"Just tell me where she is," he greeted her, in what he thought was an abundantly patient tone that sounded only mildly like a man possessed.

"She left. She's gone."

All the color drained from his face, and it took a moment for Angela to realize why. "I mean...oh God, Booth, I'm sorry. She's not _gone_ gone. She didn't take off. She just went home. You're right about the book, Cam. She said she needed to go home to work on it and rewrite a report, and that she'd be back tonight to work on the stuff from bone storage. And..." she trailed off.

Booth had regained some color, but not much. "And?" he demanded.

"And she kind of freaked out about the flowers, I think. She didn't even go in and look at them, except through the window in the dark. She just turned around and took off when I mentioned daisies. I'm sorry, Booth."

"She didn't read the card?"

"No." Nervousness made her need to keep talking. "But I'd _love_ to read it. Or you could just tell us what it says. My favorites this week are lilies, by the way."

"Is Dr. Brennan here?" a new voice cut in. "She's not answering her phone, and I really need to speak with her."

Three heads whirled around to see the last person that Booth really needed to be around right then.

Sweets.

… ooo … ooo …

Cam was the first to answer Sweets, all the while stepping slightly in front of Booth and putting a hand on his arm. "How fast can you run, Sweets?"

The young psychologist had spoken before he even noticed Booth's presence, but he didn't need to be a body language expert to pick up on the waves of anger rolling off the armed FBI agent - and he knew exactly who Booth was pissed off at and why. His wary eyes were fixed on Booth as he swallowed hard and then absently replied to Cam's question. "I don't know. Why?"

"Now might be a good time to find out," was her wry answer. She had no hope of holding on to Booth, who had already wrenched his arm out of her grasp and was advancing on Sweets.

"You better have a damn good explanation." His voice was pure fury as he stalked toward the smaller man.

Sweets looked more than a little wide-eyed and terrified, but didn't take Cam's advice and instead held his ground. "It's not what you think, Agent Booth. If you'll just let me explain..."

Booth grabbed him by the shirt collar, pushing him to the wall and holding him there easily one-handed, ignoring Angela's startled gasp from behind him that followed the _thud_ of Sweets' back hitting the wall. His other hand he used to point a threatening finger in the psychologist's face. "For your sake, you better damn well _hope_ it's not what I think. You've got 10 seconds to convince me."

Sweets wanted to answer - he really did. But all he could manage was a tiny, "What...why, what happens in 10 seconds?"

Booth gave him a little shake, his countenance livid. "Five. Four."

That actually got through to Sweets and loosened his tongue. "I didn't make the recommendation!"

Booth loosened his grip a little in surprise, his eyes flitting to Cam who locked eyes with him at the same moment. Narrowing his eyes, he addressed his semi-question at Cam. "That's not what it said in the email I read."

Although she actually agreed with the decision they believed Sweets to have made, Cam wasn't about to lie to Booth or mislead him at that point. A truly pissed-off Booth could be a frightening thing. "Mine either," she confirmed. "The e-mail I got from Cullen specifically said he made the decision based on Dr. Sweets' recommendation."

Booth's eyes narrowed, glittering with barely restrained fury as they returned to the man he still held pinned against the wall. "You lying to me, Sweets?" he snarled. "Because so help me God, if you're just messing with her for one of your damn experiments, not even Bones and the squints are gonna be able to identify your body by the time I'm through with you."

"Whoa!" came Hodgins' voice as he turned the corner and his eyes widened at the sight before him. "Okay - what'd I miss?"

Sweets hands were up in the classic pose of surrender, not even noticing the arrival of Hodgins. "I only found out a few minutes before you did! Cullen called me in and..."

Booth still wasn't convinced, his ire growing hotter by the moment as he cut him off. "So you had no idea it was coming? Give me a fucking break, Sweets! You knew exactly what would happen when you wrote whatever crap you must have put in your little report to him. You've been holding this over both our heads for two years now, and you picked one hell of a time to follow through. Do you have any idea what you've _done?"_

Sweets tried the calm approach, with questionable results. "That's what I'm telling you - I didn't recommend it. I actually recommended allowing Dr. Brennan to _remain_ in the field, against my better judgment, contingent on her continued cooperation to meet with me. I knew that she wouldn't take something like this well right now, and that you weren't likely to take her into a dangerous situation at this point anyway. As soon as I found out Cullen was pulling her, I started trying to find her...or _you._ "

Booth only gripped him tighter. "You must not have tried too hard to find _me_ ," he pushed out through clenched teeth. "Because I went looking for _you_ when I got the e-mail. You weren't in your office, your secretary had no clue where you were, and you wouldn't answer your damn phone." His eyes were deadly, challenge filling his voice. "You know what I think? I think you knew this was coming, I think you knew I'd come looking for you, and I think you knew you better stay the fuck out of my way. So why don't you try again and tell me where the hell you were hiding, Sweets?"

Cam's eyes had widened at both Booth's language and his tone, thinking that he was dangerously close to losing control as she watched him push Sweets harder against the wall. "Booth..." she warned, taking a step closer. For her part, Angela just stood with one hand over her mouth watching in shock, while Hodgins watched the conversation in fascinated silence, looking back and forth like he was watching a tennis match.

Sweets looked desperate, fear pitching his voice a little higher than normal. "I wasn't hiding! I was still in Cullen's office getting my ass chewed out!"

"For what?" Booth demanded hotly, in full interrogation mode, ignoring everyone but Sweets.

"For _not_ recommending pulling her. And if I didn't answer my phone after he let me go, it's because I've been trying to call Dr. Brennan! The best I could do was to convince Cullen not to copy her on the e-mail so that I could tell her myself, or find you first."

"Keep talking," Booth shot back, leaving no question about the fact that he required an answer, and quickly. "Start making sense to me, Sweets, and do it fast. Cullen already knew she was back in the field. He agreed to her working the Bernadetti case with me, her first day back. Why the hell would he suddenly want her pulled, and why would he use your name to back it up and _order_ her to get a psych eval by _you_?"

"Because of this!" With some difficulty, Sweets pulled a few folded pieces of paper out of his coat, which had become somewhat crumpled during his interaction with Booth. "And because after Cullen confronted me with this, I had no choice but to change my recommendation."

Booth's eyes never left his prey, still nose to nose with Sweets, his hand making no move to take the papers - he wanted the answer straight from Sweets. "Because of that. And what the hell is that?"

But Cam had moved forward instantly, carefully taking the papers from Sweets' hand and looking over them.

"Uh-oh," was all that came out of her mouth.

"That doesn't help me, Camille," Booth snapped over his shoulder.

Moving up to where only Booth and Sweets could hear, she lowered her voice to keep it between the three of them. "You better take a look at this, Seeley. And let him go."

"You know what, Camille, I'll let him go when I'm damn good and ready to let him go!" he retorted almost childishly, not ready to relinquish the target of his wrath.

His bluster didn't even slow Cam down, her voice staying hushed to almost a whisper. "Did you read her portion of the paperwork for the Bernadetti case before you turned it in? Specifically her cause of death report?"

After what he had just heard about the Egyptology report and the manuscript, a sick feeling began to take up residence in the pit of Booth's stomach. Combined with a furious Cullen, he had an idea that he knew where this might be going, and lowered his voice to match Cam's. "No. I just signed it. Cause of death was a cakewalk on this one, and I had enough paperwork of my own to do."

"Right. I never review her findings anymore either. But maybe we should both start."

Worry and curiosity finally got the better of him at Cam's cryptic comments. Releasing Sweets - who breathed a huge sigh of relief that he wasn't going to be snapped in two, at least for the moment - Booth snatched the papers from Cam and started looking through them. The reaction was almost instantaneous as his jaw went slack and the color drained from his face.

"Oh my God," Booth breathed. The two glaring mistakes in her report were a defense attorney's fucking wet dream - enough contradiction and error to turn an easy conviction into a killer walking free if it had made it past Cullen and found its way into the wrong hands; if it hadn't already.

"Who else has seen this?" Booth asked softly. His eyes were still glued to the paper, but there was no doubt to whom the question was directed. And the intended recipient had already learned his lesson about stalling when asked a direct question.

"Just us and Cullen, so far as I know," Sweets answered in the same hushed tone that Booth and Cam had adopted. "It didn't go any farther, luckily."

Booth stood for another moment, one hand resting on his hip as the other held the paper, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he thought. When he spoke his voice was loud enough for everyone present to hear, his tone decisive and threatening.

"Everybody listen to me. She doesn't find out about this. Ever."

Angela chose that moment to find her voice. "Well that shouldn't be too hard. We still don't know what it is," she intoned somewhat exasperatedly, indicating herself and Hodgins who had been left out of the hushed discussion.

"Then leave." Booth's response was immediate, his utterly serious tone causing her eyes to widen dramatically.

"What?"

"Hey, wait a minute..." the resident slime and bug guy protested.

"You too, Hodgins. I said go. The fewer people who know about this the better. Goodbye, Angela."

"But..."

"Go." Ominous dark eyes turned on the pair of them. With a returning stare, Hodgins placed a hand on Angela's back and guided her away without another word. Booth looked way too serious for either of them to push him.

"Can you fix this report, Cam?" Booth asked her the moment the three of them were alone, his threatening tone gone and his eyes imploring her to say that she could.

She looked at him disbelievingly. "Booth, I can, but she's going to find out."

"No, she's not." Turning his eyes to Sweets before he could start the same argument, he cut him off. "You've convinced me. I'll get her to you, and you can do whatever you need to do. But she doesn't find out about this."

"Booth..."

"No!" The harsh bark of his answer would have been enough to forestall any further argument, but he was thinking aloud, forgetting that Sweets didn't know what he was talking about. "She already knows about the mistakes in her Egyptology report and her book. That's enough for me to use to get her to talk to you. But she finds out about this and it could push her over the edge. No way. I'll get her to you, Sweets, but if you tell her about this I'm going to do worse than threaten you."

"Cullen wants an explanation..." Sweets started, but was cut off by Booth's angry growl.

"I'll deal with Cullen. Cam, just rewrite the report and give it back to me with her name on it. Sweets, you just worry about making her better. I'll take care of getting her to you."

"It's not just getting her there, Booth. She clearly hasn't been totally honest with me. You mentioned another report and her book. How long has this been going on?"

Cam and Booth exchanged a glance, and it was Cam who finally answered. "Obviously since the day she came back, but we just found out about all of it today."

"What's wrong with her, Sweets?" Booth asked, deep concern etched into his tired features, quickly being replaced by anger and fear as he came up with his own explanation. "Is it the drugs those bastards gave her? Did they have a permanent effect on her brain?"

"No, no, no. I don't think so," Sweets rushed to reassure him. "Concentration difficulties are actually quite common for someone who's been through an ordeal like the one Dr. Brennan endured. Remember when we discussed HyperArousal, or hypervigilance, as a symptom of Acute Stress Disorder? Difficulty sleeping, irritability, poor concentration, hypervigilance, even being easily startled are all part of that. Is she still experiencing the flashbacks and nightmares as well?"

"Yes," Booth answered quietly, recognizing a lot of the symptoms Sweets had just mentioned as sounding uncomfortably familiar for _both_ of them. "But this is temporary, right?"

"She needs counseling at the very least," Sweets warned. "Left untreated, there is a much greater chance that her symptoms will further develop into Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. But with proper therapy, I see no reason why Dr. Brennan shouldn't be able to eventually make a full recovery." After a pause, Sweets asked the question that was foremost on his mind. "I need to work with Dr. Brennan alone, but she holds a very low opinion of counseling. You said you would get her to me, but do you have a plan for how you're going to convince her to do that?"

"I don't have a clue," was the tired answer. "But I'll get her there, Sweets. It's too important not to." Having seen the evidence with his own eyes, Booth understood that now fully.

But the fact that she hadn't answered any of his every-five-minutes calls since he had received Cullen's e-mail wasn't exactly encouraging him about his ability to get through to her. He knew it had to have come as a blow to her to have the two constants in her life - her intelligence and her competence - thrown into question, and publicly at that.

But was it too much to ask for her to run _to_ him instead of _away_ from him?

On a frustrated sigh, he pulled his suddenly ringing phone from his pocket, freezing into place as he saw her cell number. He wasn't exactly oblivious to the knowing looks from Cam and Sweets at his reaction. He just chose to ignore them - along with the smartass comment from Cam, while he was at it. Damn her for knowing him so damn well.

"Well don't just stand there, Seeley, answer the phone," she smirked. "Your missing girlfriend's calling."

… ooo … ooo …

By the time Brennan was approaching her apartment door, the irritation she felt had not abated in the slightest. If anything, it had grown. She still stung from her disastrous meeting with her publisher, as well as the dual revelations from Cam about her horrible Egyptology report and the revocation of her field privileges. And why was she still so absurdly irritated at Booth for sending her the wrong flowers? She wasn't the type to care about such things, and so it irritated her that it irritated her. Beyond that, why did he keep trying to call her every five minutes? And considering how much _that_ annoyed her, why did it bother her so much when the calls stopped and her phone suddenly became strangely silent? All things considered, she was not in the best of spirits by the time she reached home.

And so it didn't help matters that the first thing she saw was another huge vase of daisies, directly in front of her apartment door. She had to admit that they were undeniably beautiful - which only fueled her frustration, for some reason. In one efficient move, she stooped and retrieved the vase, unlocked her door and entered her apartment, unceremoniously plunking the vase down on the first small table she reached inside her door.

That done, she followed her first impulse and yanked her cellphone out of her pocket with more force than was really necessary. Hitting the first button on her speed dial, she waited to be connected to Booth.

… ooo … ooo …

"Bones? Where are you?" As greetings went, it wasn't the most romantic one he could have thought of for their first phone call as 'something-in-between,' but at the moment he didn't really care. He just needed to know where she was and that she was okay as quickly as possible, so that he could get to wherever she was.

"Booth, are the flowers from you?" she asked, somewhat crabbily, completely ignoring his question.

Okay, so that wasn't what he had been expecting, particularly not in _that_ tone of voice. Intentionally keeping his tone light, he gave her the first answer that popped to mind after hearing that mildly ridiculous question from her.

"They sure as hell better be."

He had been kidding - well, kind of - but the more he thought about it in the silence that followed, he finally decided to ask a ridiculous question of his own. This was, after all, a woman who had managed in the past four years to get herself stalked, kidnapped multiple times, became the target of a gang leader's hit, and even got herself buried alive. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he'd rather be paranoid and safe _now_ than frantic and sorry _later_ if he took anything for granted.

"We talking about the same flowers, Bones?"

"The daisies in my office and hallway."

He almost grinned with relief. Yep, that was him. And if she had found the ones in her hallway, that also answered the question of where she was. Without another glance at Sweets and Cam, he started a purposeful stride toward her office, already fishing for his keys. Did she even know that he had a key to her office? He couldn't quite remember. Probably better to keep that to himself, in any case. As he spoke, he scooped up the vase and then relocked her door behind him before taking up that same quick stride toward the parking deck. They were definitely going to discuss her need to speak with Sweets, at length. But something in her tone told him maybe he should start with this discussion.

"Guilty on both counts, Bones. Do you like them?" he asked carefully, remembering what Angela had said about her reaction - and still hearing the word 'irritability' coming off of Sweets' tongue and ringing in his ears.

The long pause from her didn't exactly calm his nerves. "They're quite beautiful, Booth," was the overly careful and polite reply, followed by another long pause. "Why did you send them?"

He knew exactly what she was _really_ asking. Considering that Angela had already told him she hadn't read the card, he had been expecting that question - but he had actually been expecting her to be a little more direct about it, rather than taking the roundabout approach.

Knowing that he had every intention of being inside her apartment in less than 10 minutes with the card in his hand for her to read and get the answer for herself - even if it meant he had to run the damn siren all the way there - he hadn't intended to give her an answer before he got there.

But that tiny tinge of hurt in her voice tugged at him, and he had to give her at least a partial answer. How could one little hitch in her voice have such an effect on him and crush any resolve he had? God, he was so freaking in love with this woman he didn't even want to know just how far he'd go for her.

 _No, Bones, I didn't forget..._ his mind implored her. _Jesus, I could find you in a crowded room from 50 yards away, blindfolded, just by listening for the sound of your step; and you think I could forget your favorite flower?_

Verbally, however, he gave her a much more toned down version. "Does a guy need a reason to send the most gorgeous forensic anthropologist in D.C. her second favorite flower?"

The partial answer in the form of a question seemed to soften the edge in her tone even more than he had intended. She didn't sound hurt or even particularly angry anymore when she answered. Now she just sounded confused and maybe even a little intrigued. "I'm the only forensic anthropologist in D.C."

 _Oh Bones...wouldn't matter, baby..._ If he said half the things to her out loud that he said in his head, they'd be having a very different relationship.

Not waiting for an answer - well, a verbal one anyway - she asked a question that made him have to fight a smile. "Was the florist unable to obtain daffodils for you?"

"Nope, that's not a problem," he grinned into the phone. "They had some of the biggest and prettiest I've seen, actually."

He hadn't really meant to let slip that he had looked; she really didn't need to know how many times in the past year he had just considered saying the hell with it and sending her the biggest batch of the things in history and then telling her once and for all how he felt. And he should have. But that was in the past, and now he was coming at this from a different angle. And he was going to do it right.

He could almost hear the gears grinding in her head as she tried to figure him out, knew the moment she gave up, heard the barely perceptible sound through the phone of her starting to speak, reconsidering, and starting again.

"Then why..."

"Didn't you read the card?"

There was a slight rustling sound, and once again he didn't need to see her to know what she was doing. She was looking through the arrangement in her apartment. Too bad she wouldn't be finding anything.

"There's not a card, Booth."

"Hm. Then I guess you should have read the one in your office."

Not willing to be outdone, she thought about that for only a few seconds before throwing him a curveball - but her tone gave away her growing frustration. "Why do you keep kissing me on the cheek? You never answered me this morning."

Damn, she was good. She had figured out the two were linked, even if she didn't realize she had. But that was another thing she needed to read the card to find out, and he was only a few minutes from her apartment so he wasn't caving now.

"Because I like kissing you," he answered noncommittally. "Did you ever decide whose couch we're sleeping on tonight?" He almost held his breath waiting for the answer; he really should have waited to ask her in person, but was just a little terrified of seeing doubt in her eyes after the events of the day. He'd much prefer to pretend it was still just a foregone conclusion that the sleepover would be happening.

She paused a beat, and he hoped she wouldn't wait long - because his heart was refusing to beat again until she answered.

"I have a lot of work tonight, Booth."

 _Goddamnit_. And there it was - the slamming door.

He couldn't even think of anything to say, and a moment later he was glad he hadn't tried when she finished her thought after a short pause, with a thoughtful tone to her voice that told him she was thinking it up as she went.

"But I suppose if you would still like to come here, I could join you on the couch when I finish. I can't guarantee that it won't be extremely late, however."

He had wanted his apartment, but after that scare he wasn't about to argue. He managed to keep from letting his breath out in a loud _whoosh_ of utter relief. "That sounds great, Bones. I'll see ya later, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, he disconnected. It hadn't technically been a lie - he _would_ be seeing her later. About five minutes later. But if he stayed on the phone with her any longer, she was going to end up dragging things out of him that he wanted her to read for herself.

… ooo … ooo …

After staring at her phone for a moment wondering at Booth's strange behavior - first his unwillingness to kiss her, then the daisies, and now hanging up on her? and what had happened to the 'love you' he had been finishing every meeting with? - she tried to turn her focus to the Egyptology report. The deadline on the book was pressing, but it would take less time to correct the report.

She kept finding her eyes, instead, drawn to the daisies. Despite her initial annoyance, the feeling had subsided somewhat at hearing Booth acknowledge that he at least _knew_ they were her second favorite flower. Actually, the annoyance had fled just as soon as she heard his voice, along with much of her tension. And no one had ever sent her such a beautiful arrangement of something they knew she loved. But why daisies instead of daffodils? Curiosity was now her prevailing feeling on the topic. It seemed a much more pleasant topic than the report she still couldn't bring herself to focus on.

She didn't have to wait much longer to get her answers. The sound of the doorbell startled her and made her jump - also causing her to wonder exactly why she was so jumpy. For once, she actually took Booth's longstanding advice/demand that she should look who was at her door before opening it. But all she saw through the peephole was a huge curtain of daisies.

"Bones, it's me!" came the call through the door, before she could even have time for her suddenly jumpy imagination to run away with her.

Despite her earlier irritation and her bad day, she couldn't stop the small smile that found its way onto her face at the sight of Booth standing there struggling not to drop two huge vases of daisies, with a slightly nervous look on his face.

She had never thought that just seeing someone's face could make her feel so much better.

"Two more, Booth?" she greeted him.

"One more," he corrected. "Can I come in now, Bones?"

Moving aside, she let him in and watched him make his way to her kitchen table where he deposited one. The other he brought back with him, holding it out toward her.

"From your office. In case you, you know, wanted to read the card."

"Where was that other one hidden?" she couldn't help asking as she tilted her head toward the kitchen to indicate the other vase he had brought in, still making no move to take the flowers from him. "Bone storage? The diner?"

"No, but thanks for the idea. I was going to give it to you tonight. I guess now I'll just have to get another one." He flashed her a boyish grin and rubbed his hands together eagerly when she finally took the vase from him and set it on the coffee table, as if he hadn't already planned on buying her more anyway.

"Booth, this is really not..."

"Card, Bones," he cut her off. "Just read the card, all right?"

Had she ever entered her office, there would have been no missing the card. He had clearly made sure of that. It wasn't the small, standard size florist card, and it wasn't typewritten. Instead, it was a full size greeting card in a bright yellow envelope, sticking right up in the middle of the flowers.

To her relief, there was no mushy poem on the front or inside of the card - it was just a beautiful picture of a field of daffodils on the front, blank on the inside other than line upon line of Booth's handwriting, which she would recognize anywhere and which filled the entire inside.

"Booth?" she looked up at him, feeling a little sheepish, realizing that had she bothered to look at the card that morning, just that daffodil picture on the front would have told her he hadn't forgotten and he had some specific reasoning behind the daisies.

"Just read, Bones. I think it'll answer all your questions."

Turning her eyes to the inside of the card, she took a deep breath and began to silently read.

 _'Bones,_

 _I know you're going to tell me that buying you flowers is unnecessary, but you might as well save your breath and just get used to it. I'm not doing it because I think it's necessary or that I have to. I'm doing it because I want to. I've been waiting a long time to have a right to do this, and I plan to buy you a lot of them._

 _But that being said, I'm sure you're also wondering why I chose to send you daisies. And you've already asked me why I keep kissing you on the cheek instead of really kissing you. I didn't answer you this morning, but I'll do my best to answer now._

 _Last night, you agreed to be my 'something-in-between.' I've given a lot of thought to what that means, Bones - because I_ _need_ _it to mean something. I know it's not what you wanted, and it still floors me that you want more with me. And you know that something-in-between is not what I want either; you already know that I want you to be my everything. But when we get there, Temperance, I need it to be forever. If settling for a second-best situation now is what it takes to ensure that happens, then I'll embrace it happily._

 _I want every stage of this to be special for you, Bones, and for me - including this stage; because I know that each new 'first' for us will be the last first for me. You're the last person I'm ever going to fall in love with. And so I've decided to draw a clear distinction between what we were, what we are now, and what I want us to be._

 _As your partner and friend, I got to see you almost every day. I got to be your confidante, your shoulder to cry on, and even your protector. I cherished every moment of it, and I want to keep being those things for you for the rest of my life. But that alone could never be enough. As your partner and friend, I couldn't send you flowers just because I wanted to. I couldn't kiss you at all. I couldn't sleep at night with you in my arms, and wake up to find you still there._

 _One day, Bones, when we both have time to heal, I promise you that I'll send you enough daffodils to decorate an entire country. I'll kiss you - really kiss you - so often that you'll probably be sick of me. And I'll hold you in my arms in our bed every night, and wake up with you every morning._

 _Right now we're in between. But that's not necessarily a bad thing; instead, I want to savor that. Just kissing your cheek, and showing you that I care by saving anything more until I can take you on a proper date - those things are still more than I ever dared hope for at times._

 _And in the meantime, you know you can kiss me if you get impatient..._

 _And then there are the flowers. I said it once, Bones. Right now is a second-best situation. That doesn't mean it's not still amazing in its own right. Daisies may be your second favorite flower, but that makes them no less beautiful or special. And I'm going to remind you of that every day by sending you as many of them as I can, until the day that I can start sending you the daffodils I've wanted to send you since the day I learned they were your favorite. I'm aware that we have a long way to go, but I look forward to every step of the journey with you. Let's just enjoy this, Bones - every moment of it._

 _I love you. (That's one thing I'm not waiting any longer to say - I already waited too long.)_

 _-Booth_

She stood reading the card and then re-reading it for so long that he started to fidget - and worry. Was it too much? Not enough? Did she even get what he was trying to do? Or was she insulted? She was a best-selling author, for God's sake. What made him think he could put words to paper well enough to impress her?

He almost panicked when she looked up and he saw just the tiniest traces of tears in her eyes.

"Bones?"

Mesmerized, he watched her set down the card beside the flowers and move to stand directly in front of him. She studied him for a moment, as he wished for at least the millionth time that he had some clue what was going through her mind.

A smile broke out on her face, looking somewhat out of place with the tears that he still saw there. She gave a small chuckle, shaking her head side to side. "I was so mad at you."

He wasn't really sure what to do with that, so he just nodded dumbly and waited. Finally, reaching up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips across his cheek before wrapping her arms around him to hug him.

"Thank you, Booth."

With an answering smile, his own arms came up to wrap around her, hoping she didn't want him to let go anytime soon. Never had he received such a matter-of-fact reply to such a sweeping romantic gesture, but somehow it seemed just right to him.

At some point before he left, he needed to bring up the fact that she was going to have to spend some time talking to Sweets, whether psychology was a pointlessly soft science or not.

But for just a few minutes, he was just going to hold the woman he loved who had had a bad day. Now if he could just get her to actually talk to him about it...

… ooo … ooo … ooo

Brennan seemed content to let him keep holding her for a while; considering that he was pretty happy with that arrangement himself and not really looking forward to upsetting her, Booth didn't say anything for quite some time as he rubbed her back and just deeply inhaled the clean, fresh scent of her. But he hadn't forgotten the primary reason he'd needed to find her and talk to her, and so finally he gave her one more squeeze and a kiss on top of her head before pulling back to look at her, keeping his hands at her shoulders to keep a connection with her.

"How did your meeting with your publisher go this morning?" he began, hoping she would just level with him and save them both some pain.

The way her eyes dropped and flitted toward the ground for just a split second before returning to look at him told him that Cam had most likely been correct that it had gone very, very badly. It also told him that he was going to get a half answer, at best.

"I have to rework a few things in the last chapter by tomorrow morning, but I believe the book will be completed by deadline."

He was studying her carefully in that way that made her squirm. She knew exactly how well he could read her; it made her fidget a little bit at the thought that she was being misleading and he could probably see it. Nothing she had said was an outright lie. But it was more than a _few_ things to redo, it was actually the last _three_ chapters, and the word ' _rework'_ could have been more accurately stated as _'rewrite completely.'_ But her first impulse had been to hide her failure from Booth, and she still felt uncomfortable admitting any of it to him. It wasn't as if there was anything he could do about it, and the thought that he might see her as incompetent made her more than a little apprehensive.

And yet part of her wanted nothing more than to tell him every last word of what had happened.

"I tried to call you," he told her softly.

Considering his behavior after that first night in her apartment and in the days afterward, he made an extremely concerted effort to keep that statement gentle and 100% non-accusing. The last thing he needed was her thinking that he was going all obsessive-controlling-prick on her again. He was going to have a tough enough sell convincing her she needed to talk to Sweets; the last thing he needed was to freak her out and make her want to run from him too.

"You tried to call me?" she repeated noncommittally, in what she thought was a convincingly neutral tone.

He almost smiled. God, she was a terrible liar, especially to him. But the fact that she felt the need to even _try_ lying to him was nothing to smile about.

With a sigh, he softly rubbed his hands up and down her arms to soften his words as he began to close her remaining loopholes on her. He wouldn't even consider letting anybody else do it, but God how he hated being the one to make her house of cards she had been building since Albania come tumbling down on top of her.

"Five times. I tried to call you five times, and we both know that. So what's wrong, Bones? I know when something's wrong with you. Why don't you want to tell me what happened this morning?" he asked, still keeping his tone calm and gentle.

Her resolve was weakening under that calmly concerned gaze, to the point that it even sounded entirely unconvincing to her own ears when she answered him. "It has nothing to do with you, Booth. I saw no reason to involve you unnecessarily."

His eyes found the ceiling and then closed, as he desperately tried to remember if there was a patron saint of patience and if there was some way he could get on the guy's good side. If there wasn't already one, maybe he should ask someone to have his name added to the hat for consideration when he died one day. A life with Temperance Brennan was almost certainly going to qualify him for that title; and Seeley Joseph Booth, patron saint, had a nice ring to it.

Did it count for or against him that patience was really his only choice anyway? The option of _not_ spending his life with her was just out of the question; and yet it would be unrealistic to expect her to go against a lifetime of self-reliance and just suddenly start running to him with all of her problems just because they were suddenly 'together' in some kind of weird, undefined, 'in-between' way. It was going to take her some time, and he was just going to have to deal with that. But the term 'patience of a saint', at the very least, had taken on all new meaning for him. And it was probably only going to get worse before it got better.

Opening his eyes with a more calm feeling after his little self-pep-talk, he kept his tone as gentle as he could without being so placating that he would offend her. "Come on, Bones. If you've heard a word I've said in the last week, then you know better than that. If something's wrong... if you have a problem, then _I_ have a problem," he explained...well, patiently. "It's never 'unnecessary' to involve me. It's kind of the point. And vice versa - I confide in you too. So please _talk_ to me."

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, looking up at him through slightly lowered lashes before finally making a decision. "All right." She looked a little nervous, and a moment later he understood why. "Booth, I've avoided this since our return from Albania, but after what happened today I believe that I need to schedule an appointment with a doctor."

He blinked, struck momentarily dumb. Had it really been that easy? She had decided _herself_ that she needed counseling? Well if _that_ wasn't proof that she wasn't herself, he didn't know what was. Since when did Bones consider therapy of any use at all, and/or go voluntarily?

"Okay," he finally managed, his voice a little awe-struck. "What - I mean do you want me to call Sweets? I'm sure he could fit you in immediately..." ' _If he values his life,'_ his brain finished silently. "I've got to go back over to the Hoover Building anyway, so I can just take you if..."

"Sweets?" she asked in a completely lost-and-confused tone that told him they were having two very different conversations. "I'm well acquainted with an excellent neurologist. What does this have to do with Sweets?"

Oh. Uh-oh. "Neurologist?" he repeated.

She drew a deep breath, and he could see that she still wasn't exactly sure about telling him. "Booth, I wasn't aware of it until today, but it seems that there were multiple errors in my report for Egyptology - which Cam made me aware of this morning - as well as problems with the most recent chapters of my manuscript. I seem to have lost basic reasoning skills. I was already aware that I have also missed several obvious markers during my examinations of remains from bone storage, which thankfully Mr. Nigel-Murray and Mr. Bray discovered and corrected. At first I attributed my inability to think clearly to lack of sleep and physical stress. However, there has been no improvement and I now believe that the most logical course of action would be to have myself tested for possible brain damage or other lingering effects from the drugs that I was given in Albania. I'm going to ask Cam for a leave of absence, as it would clearly be irresponsible to continue working to identify human remains in my current condition."

He could only stare at her.

No, no, no, no, no...this was not what he had wanted. He hadn't wanted to push her into any hasty decisions, and he sure as hell didn't want her taking any goddamn leaves-of-absence. He was pretty damn sure that "leave of absence" was what came out of a forensic anthropologist's mouth about five minutes before the words, _"There's this dig in Guatemala..."_

As if that wasn't bad enough, that trembly-lipped look on her face as she tried to be so matter-of-fact and brave about the fact that she was actually standing there thinking she had lost her status as a genius - in his eyes, her own, or anybody else's - was quite actually killing him. He just needed her to stop believing that, and fast. Desperation made him make a rather hasty statement of his own, one that he didn't really stop to think through.

"Bones, no...you don't have to do that. God, I was scared of the same thing about the drugs, but Sweets said he doesn't think that's what's causing your..."

The look on her face actually froze him in mid-word even before the realization of what he had just _very_ prematurely admitted.

 _Oh shit_

"You've already talked to Sweets about this?" she asked disbelievingly. "The two of you have discussed my incompetence?"

"Bones..." He couldn't take the betrayed way she was looking at him. "It's not like that. This is not what you think."

"You knew about this?" Her voice had risen a little in pitch, and he knew from long experience that it meant she was fighting for control. "You knew that I was making mistakes and you talked to Sweets without even _telling_ me?" Finding out that she had been unable to perform her job well was bad enough - thinking that it had been so obvious that others had been aware of it all along was enough to devastate her.

He tried to keep his voice calm despite his frantically thudding heart, his hands flexing on her shoulders urgently. "Only today, just like you, and the same thing goes for Sweets - and Cam too, for that matter. Cam told me about the Egyptology report when I came to find you. She saw your manuscript in your hand this morning and guessed the rest."

If anything, that made matters worse, judging by the look on her face when he mentioned her book. "So you discussed this with Cam _and_ Sweets? Who else, Booth?"

"Bones, listen to me. It's not what you're thinking. I came to the Jeffersonian to find _you_ when I got the e-mail from Cullen that he was suspending your field privileges."

Needing some space, she pushed outward with her arms, pushing his hands away from where they grasped her shoulders desperately. Despite the fact that he _needed_ to touch her probably just as badly as she needed the space, he reluctantly took a step back to give her some room.

"Yes, a decision he made based on Sweets' recommendation, according to Cam," she fumed. "Why did Sweets recommend this? What else have you not told me, Booth?"

Her investigative skills had definitely grown over the past four years, Booth noted, but that didn't mean she was getting an answer to that very good question. Feeling a little like a hypocrite for having just taken her to task about not being fully honest with _him_ , he avoided that question completely. He still had no intention of going anywhere near the topic of that Bernadetti cause of death report. She could be just as mad at him as she wanted - he wasn't destroying her with that privileged little piece of information just to spare himself from her wrath; not then, not ever.

"I was looking for _you_ , Bones, not Cam or Sweets," he continued, as though she hadn't even interrupted his narrative.

"Booth," she whispered, cutting him off again, her expression suddenly stricken. Sensing his avoidance of her question, she attributed it to the only thing she could think of that he would have reason to hide - something that pulled at her still sharp fears of abandonment and betrayal. "Did _you_ ask Sweets to have me pulled from the field?"

She might as well have stabbed him in the heart, the way he flinched at the realization that she could believe that of him, even in her state.

"No! Jesus, Bones! _No._ Will you please listen to me? I was furious when I found out! I got Cullen's e-mail and tried to call you. You didn't answer, so I went looking for you. I found Cam first, and she figured out that I was ready to kill Sweets. She showed me the Egyptology report and told me about the manuscript, one, because she cares about you, Bones, and two, because she didn't want me to break Sweets in half for this."

He leaned forward for emphasis until he was right back in her personal space without taking a step. "Believe me, Bones. I. Was. Ready. To. _Kill._ Him. And it's a good thing Cam _did_ tell me, because Sweets showed up right after that and I probably _would_ have otherwise. _No,_ I didn't ask him to do this."

"So if Sweets arrived after she told you, then he clearly didn't know about the report or the manuscript when he made his recommendation. So why did Cullen suspend me? What else are you not telling me, Booth?" she asked logically.

He was going to get an ulcer if she kept asking him that, because lying to her hadn't really worked out so well for him at any point prior to this, and he was beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that it might not this time either. He didn't know whether to cheer and be relieved that her rational brain obviously still worked just fine at least part of the time - which meant Sweets was probably right about it 'just' being trauma rather than drug-induced brain damage - or beat his head against the wall that he was having to lie to her at one of the exact moments she was thinking perfectly-clearly-thank-you-very-much and was able to grill him about it.

"I haven't talked to Cullen yet to hear his side," he evaded. "Listen, Bones, the important thing is that Sweets doesn't think there's anything wrong with your brain, okay? He thinks that you - us - _we_ both have some kind of trauma from what happened that's affecting our daily lives. He says you just need to talk to him."

"I've already tried that," she sniffed stubbornly. "In fact, I've spoken with Sweets multiple times since our return, taken his advice, and my lack of focus has not improved. If anything, it has grown worse. I'm making an appointment with a _real_ doctor, Booth," she insisted, emphasizing the word _'real'_ as though Booth were a small child who had been trying to convince her of the existence of the Easter bunny.

"Bones, that's fine," he reasoned. "Do you think I'm going to argue with you wanting to make sure there's nothing physically wrong with you _or_ your brain from what those bastards did to you? Hell, no. If I'd have thought you'd go along with it, I'd have suggested it myself before you were even released from the hospital. I'll take you there myself if you want to go, and hold your hand the whole time if you'll let me. But all I'm asking is that you talk to Sweets too."

"It appears that I would have very little choice other than to do so," she shot back defensively, "if I wished to have my field privileges reinstated. It's my understanding that Sweets wishes to do some type of psychological evaluation."

He had caught those two key little words 'would' and 'if', and it didn't sit well with him. _At all_. If she _wished_ to be reinstated? It almost sounded as though she didn't care whether she was reinstated or not. His hands twitched at his sides with the urge to regain his hold on her. He needed to touch her, if for no other reason than to hold onto her physically while he feared that he was verbally pushing her in the other direction.

"It's not just the evaluation. Sweets wants to do one-on-one counseling with you." Taking a deep breath, he paused for just a moment to study her clearly disgusted expression before he went all in. "And I think you should let him, Bones."

She looked as though he had just suggested that she convert to Catholicism and become a nun, but that after careful consideration she would probably consider _that_ more readily than his actual request.

"Please, Bones," he shifted track and asked her before she could argue, letting her see the full intensity in his eyes. "I'm asking you to do this for _me_. I'm not saying you have to believe in it or even like it. But I'm asking you to do this. For me. Please."

She folded her arms across her chest, avoiding answering. "You just said that Sweets thinks we _both_ have these issues. Why aren't _you_ being pulled from active duty and ordered to get counseling?"

Truthfully, he had wondered the same thing himself during his conversation with Sweets; he just knew when to keep his mouth shut. He let her get away with what was clearly a diversionary tactic to avoid dealing with his plea - which he was relieved to see had reached her on some level. The question she had fired back at him wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a flat refusal either. It was reassuring to know that it wasn't so easy for her to say no to a personal request from him.

He never even blinked or paused a beat after her question before answering, his gaze fixed right on her. "Bones, if letting Sweets pick apart my head and play 20 questions about my dad and my first puppy is what it will take to get you to do this, then I'm game. I'll meet with him two hours to every hour you have to meet with him if that's what you want. I don't care. Name your terms."

That, at least, gave her something to argue about. "If there's anything more pointless than my needlessly meeting with Sweets, it's you doing so as well simply to placate me."

He opened his mouth to reply, and was cut off by the ringing of his phone. He had every intention of ignoring it, and just talked right over it.

"I'm not trying to placate you, Bones. I'm trying to..."

"Shouldn't you answer your phone?" she interrupted impatiently. "You, at least, still have cases to solve."

Great. A threatened, cornered Bones was a catty Bones. Good to know for future reference. And of course she had to be _right._ Gritting his teeth, he pulled out his phone.

"Booth." Even Brennan could see the tension that took over his long, lean frame as he listened. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. No, I'm not at - yes, sir. I'll be right there."

On a heavy sigh, he closed his phone, his eyes squeezing shut for just a moment as one frustrated hand passed over his face. "I have to go, Bones. I don't have a choice. But we're not finished with this discussion."

She didn't seem to particularly care for that, noticeably bristling. "Actually, Booth, I'm quite finished with this discussion. As I plan on taking a leave of absence from the Jeffersonian until my symptoms disappear, reinstatement of my FBI field privileges is a moot point. Therefore there is no reason for me to submit to Sweets' testing. I'm submitting my request to Dr. Saroyan this afternoon."

That _did_ snap his resolve and bring his hands up to grab her shoulders. " _Don't_ , Bones. _Do. Not. Do that._ At least not until we can talk about this again. _Don't."_

Her chin went up, proud and haughty. "Our new relationship hardly gives you the right to order me around, Booth."

His eyes flashed hot before turning to cold steel. "This has nothing to do with our _new relationship,"_ he pushed out, finally angry. "This has to do with our _partnership_ of almost five years and you single-handedly making a decision that just _throws away_ that partnership without even consulting me. I think I have a right to want a say, considering that my career is affected as well. I'd say you owe me that much as your _partner._ How would you like it if I accepted a promotion that took me out of the field without even talking to you? _"_

Anger was not something she had expected from him, nor could she see the underlying fear in his eyes that drove that sudden flash of anger. Her own eyes narrowed back at him, loathe to give in but unable to dispute the logic of what he had just said.

"Fine. That request is reasonable. However, I feel it's only fair to tell you that my decision is not likely to change."

Closing his eyes briefly, he made a concerted effort to soften his grip on her and regain his composure. She had, at least, agreed to wait to act until discussing it with him. That was going to have to be good enough until he could figure out what the hell to do. Starting with how he was going to walk out of her door without worrying that once it slammed behind him she'd lock it up tight - literally and figuratively.

"Listen, Bones, I don't want to leave things like this, but Cullen wants me in his office 10 minutes ago. If I don't go now, neither of us are going to have a career."

If possible, she stiffened even more. "That's fine, Booth. And if you no longer wish to come back tonight, I understand. I'll be working late into the night on rewriting my chapters anyway. I can just talk to you...later."

With great effort, he managed not to just _shake_ her and tell her she'd lost her mind if she thought he wasn't spending the night at her apartment now. He wasn't going to be anywhere else, even if it meant he had to break down the door and handcuff himself to something sturdy so she couldn't physically throw him out - and good luck getting the keys from him. Her attempt to leave him an out and pretend she didn't care whether he came back or not was nothing more than a very sheer cover for her vulnerable insecurities that he might not _want_ to come back - either due to their argument, or her belief that she was no longer the same person if she wasn't the brilliant forensic anthropologist. She was trying to protect herself. And he saw right through it.

But she wasn't the only one reeling from insecurity. Booth was scared senseless and hurting badly himself with the realization that he didn't know how to fix this. He had been so focused recently on protecting their fledgling relationship that it had come as a shock to hear her talking like she no longer cared about their partnership - which he still cared about very much. It shook him to the core. Was he going to have to choose between pushing to keep his partner or backing off to keep the love of his life? He'd choose their relationship without blinking, but he didn't want to lose his partner either. He had always known that telling her how he felt could cause him to lose her in _every_ way, but he had never imagined a scenario where he might have to give up one to keep the other in quite _this_ way.

And yet, despite his own fears, the need to reassure her won out so he shelved his own worries and adopted a light tone.

"Of course I 'still wish to come back tonight.' Are you kidding me? Jeez, Bones. I'm not passing up a night on the couch with you for anything. C'mere." He gave in to his urge to try pulling her into a hug, and felt his knees almost sag with relief when she went willingly if a little tensely. If she hadn't let him touch her before he left, his upcoming meeting with Cullen would have been even more difficult to handle.

He held her tightly, rubbing her back calmingly, the smile fading from his face as he realized how scared she had to be and why it might make her defensive. He knew her well, but even he couldn't imagine what kind of blow it had to be to her to realize just how abnormal everything still was despite her best efforts. Failure was not something she was accustomed to.

"It's going to be okay, Bones," he soothed in a voice just above a whisper, completely serious again, not even sure which one of them he was trying to reassure. "You're going to be all right. I promise. We'll get this figured out together."

"You can't know that for sure, Booth." Despite her effort at being matter-of-fact, he knew from the way she pushed closer to him that she wanted to believe it as much as he did. It also let him know that she was just as relieved about being back in his arms for a few minutes following their angry discussion as he was to have her there. It was going to take him some time to adjust to the fact that she seemed to want this every bit as much as he did. It was still so easy for him to forget that, after so long of convincing himself that she could never love him like he loved her. "What if my problem is permanent?"

"It's not," he answered immediately, pulling her even closer as though he could make that statement come true through the sheer force of his will. And yet he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't simply accept that. She needed a real answer. "But even if it is, you'll still be the same person, Bones. That hasn't changed and it's not going to. You'll still be the Temperance Brennan I fell in love with, and you'll still be the most brilliant woman I've ever met in my life. I'll still need you. The Jeffersonian will still need you. And you and I will still be the center. We'd just have to make a few adjustments, that's all."

She sighed heavily and was silent. Without being able to see her face, he wasn't sure what to make of that so he just continued to hold her for as long as she needed. Cullen was going to fire him, kill him, and then probably resuscitate him and fire him again just for the sheer hell of it; but he couldn't bring himself to run out on her at that critical moment.

Eventually, she pulled away from his embrace. "You should go, Booth. I don't want you to get in trouble with Cullen."

It was a little late for that anyway. He was in trouble long before that phone had even rung, and he knew it - had known it since Sweets produced that damned cause of death report. Studying her carefully, he let his arms unwrap from around her but left his hands resting lightly at her waist. "Are we okay, Bones? Cullen or no Cullen, I'm not leaving until I know we're all right."

She considered his question honestly, which he appreciated but still left him sweating for the seconds it took her to answer. "I'm still unconvinced of the necessity of speaking with Sweets, and I haven't made a decision yet. But I'm not angry with you if that's what you're asking. You were right." At his somewhat amazed and questioning look, she clarified. "You stated earlier that as my partner, you have the right to a say regarding my leave of absence request. I am also willing to concede that given our new arrangement, you have the right to voice an opinion in this matter as well."

That was a pretty big concession for her, and that didn't escape him. Had Temperance Brennan just agreed to let him in to her decision making process? Cullen and his job security could just both be damned. He was taking the time to acknowledge it properly. Bringing a hand up to touch her cheek, he gave her a soft smile and didn't try to tone down the adoration that he knew had to be shining in his eyes. "That's all I can really ask for, Bones." He released her waist with his other hand and reached down with both arms, catching her hands in both of his and bringing them up to his lips. "Thank you." After letting his lips linger on each one for a moment while holding her gaze, he finally dropped one hand but held onto the other, keeping hold of it and pulling her along with him as he made his way to the door. Halfway there, he had decided that walking along holding her hand was a _good_ thing that he intended to do again soon. He was definitely adding 'holding Temperance Brennan's hand' to his mental list of acceptable things to do in a something-in-between relationship.

As they walked, he spoke quietly. "And you don't have to decide anything today. We don't even have to talk about it anymore tonight. When I get back, we can just enjoy the evening together, okay?"

"I still have to work on my book tonight," she cautioned, as though she thought he might still change his mind.

"I'll be back, Bones," he assured her again as he turned to face her, giving her hand a squeeze. "I'll _always_ be back. One disagreement doesn't change that. A million disagreements won't change that." His voice turned playful, and he winked at her. "And since we're probably going to have lots of them, then the sooner you start believing that, the less likely I am to have a stroke, okay?"

His words were serious despite the playful tone, but there was a smile on his face. Her answering smile set him at ease, and told him he had said the right thing.

"I fail to see the connection between my beliefs and you suffering a cerebrovascular event that is most commonly linked to ischemia," she teased him lightly, warming quickly to the more normal tone of their interaction.

"Walk a mile in my shoes, Bones, and I promise you'll get it," he teased back, reaching an arm around her waist and pulling her against him playfully. He was so relieved that she hadn't run from him, even after such an uncomfortable discussion, that it was difficult to let her go. And her company was so much more pleasant than Cullen's was going to be.

"Your shoes, Booth," she stated matter-of-factly, "would not fit. That would be terribly uncomfortable and of questionable benefit."

Her eyes had wandered to his lips again, and he was having an equally difficult time keeping his own eyes off of hers in the close position he had pulled her into. The attraction between them seemed only to be growing each time they were in each other's presence, especially when it was time to _leave_ each other's presence. Maybe that whole waiting to kiss her thing hadn't been such a good idea. Maybe she would get impatient and take him up on his offer from the card. Maybe he needed to go buy her some more daisies as a reminder to himself to stick to the plan. Were big, tough, macho, former-Army-Ranger-sniper FBI agents even supposed to engage in retail therapy? It just seemed wrong somehow. But maybe pulling out his wallet to buy huge arrangements of daisies every time he almost succumbed to temptation could be a little like shock therapy...

"Figure of speech, but you're right. They wouldn't look right on you." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "For the last five years, I've had a thing for women in gum boots anyway."

Her eyebrow quirked at him. "Then I suppose I should throw away the red stiletto heels I purchased the last time I went shopping with Angela? I had thought you might like them, but I suppose if I was mistaken..." she trailed off, a barely restrained smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

His mouth went a little dry. This conversation was definitely taking a turn for the...worse? better? Hell, who cared? "Well, y'know Bones, I'd hate for you to throw them away..."

The look on her face at his babbled response told him that she was going to attempt to give him that stroke he had feared after all - just through slightly different tactics. She played with the end of his tie with two fingers, a knowing look on her face. _Damn_ , how did she know the effect that had on him? What was it about her touching his tie that never failed to send all of his blood rushing south right to where the damn tie pointed in the first place?

"I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, Booth." Right. The hell she wouldn't. "I don't have to wear them. I'm simply relieved to know you don't expect me to actually wear your shoes. They really are quite large."

He did a double-take at the change in her voice on that last little jewel. No way. She wasn't going there was she? Of course she was. Maybe it was time for another talk with Angela about filling her head with things.

She looked like a lioness about to devour her prey, clearly relishing the thought of watching him squirm. "Are you aware of the perceived correlation in popular culture between the size of..."

"Yes," he cut her off smoothly, determined not to let her back him down. If she thought he was backing down from any more conversations she wanted to take into the gutter, she was in for a surprise - especially now that he knew she wanted him and she wasn't just toying with him with the sex talk like he had always halfway suspected she was doing for the first few years of their partnership.

He leaned in and gave her a quicker-than-normal goodbye kiss on the cheek - no sense in actually _having_ that stroke - but stayed close enough to be sure she could feel his breath on her cheek when he answered. "And before you tell me it's an urban legend, Bones, just know that even an urban legend has some basis in fact."

He had _definitely_ surprised her, and he gave a self-satisfied grin as he saw the goosebumps break out on her neck and chest. He couldn't resist the urge to plant one more kiss right on the corner of her mouth before pulling away, releasing her completely and opening the door.

"Oh, and Bones?"

"Yes?" she asked, the light flush on her cheeks making him smirk. Maybe he didn't need to yell at Angela after all. Sometimes she could be useful. Time to see just how many pop culture references Bones was suddenly an expert on.

"While we're on the topic, I can tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue too." Boldly, he let his eyes scan over her hungrily. "In 3 seconds flat."

Her face told him that he'd guessed right on and that she and Angela had almost certainly had that discussion in the past as well; and if he were still a betting man he'd bet that his name had come up - maybe not by the right girl, but he wasn't arguing with the method if it had got the right one thinking.

"See ya later, Bones. I'm going to go have a chat with Cullen, bury myself in paperwork probably for the rest of my life, and then go looking for more daisies. _Lots_ of them."

He walked out the door, barely believing he had managed to get in the last word, even if she had no clue exactly why he needed to buy more daisies _right then._ Or, for that matter, why Cullen was about to make him the paperwork king of the FBI.

When his phone rang before he even managed to get in his SUV, after the initial panicked thought that it was Cullen just calling to fire him over the phone and be done with it, he knew the minute he saw her number that getting in the last word had been too good to be true. That was okay. _Bring it on, Bones._ No way in hell was she getting one up on him. He was Seeley Not-A-Prude Booth and it was time to prove it.

"Miss me already, Bones?" he greeted, only hesitating a moment before launching a bold preemptive strike which, he learned moments later, was not only completely in vain but landed him right in her trap. "Or did you just want a demonstration of my singular talent?"

"No," she countered. "And it's hardly a unique talent. I just thought you might like to know that Angela taught me how to do that years ago." Her voice dropped a full octave, he would've sworn. "She's really an excellent teacher." _Click._

So much for getting the last word. He had been a dead duck before he ever got started. And damn her, he was pretty sure that she had phrased it exactly like that _on_ _purpose,_ knowing he'd immediately start wondering just exactly _what_ that lesson had consisted of _._ Ten minutes before he'd be sitting in _Cullen's_ office. Not that he had any particular attraction to Bones' artistic best friend or even anything voyeuristic, but what guy _wouldn't_ react to that particular seed of thought she had planted?

Clearing his throat, he started the SUV and tried somewhat unsuccessfully not to conjure up any mental images. "Right. More daisies."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

In record time after leaving Brennan's apartment, Booth was taking the stairs from the Jeffersonian parking garage two at a time. Moments later, Cam looked up from her desk just in time to see Booth, in his haste to get into her office, almost run over the young scientist who was leaving with a stack of reports she had brought for Cam to sign.

Disbelief and a hint of wry amusement crossed her features at the sight of a - once again - hurried and frantic Booth rushing into her office. "Before you ask, no - she's not here and I haven't seen her. Have you considered having her microchipped?"

Booth didn't appear particularly amused - probably because it wasn't like the same ridiculous thought had never crossed his own mind. "Cute, Camille. Listen, I need that Bernadetti cause of death report you fixed for me."

She arched one eyebrow at him. "You only gave it to me an hour ago, Seeley, and don't call me Camille."

"And I need it _two_ hours ago. Come on, Cam, I'm counting on you here."

She hadn't known Seeley Booth for 15 years for nothing. With a tolerant sigh, she picked up a folder off her desk and spun it toward him, watching as he caught it deftly. Flipping it open, he scanned the page to see the corrections and the very authentic looking signature of one Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist.

"It's a good thing I love you, Booth. There aren't too many people who can talk a former cop into forging signatures on official documents. You're sure this is how you want to do this?"

Having skimmed the report and found it to his satisfaction, he snapped the folder shut and tucked it under his arm, pinning Cam with a hard gaze. "She can't know about this, Cam. She's already talking about quitting. If she found out she almost let a murderer walk, she'd lose all confidence in herself. I'm not letting that happen," he finished quietly.

She didn't let him off that easily. "Well your viewpoints have definitely changed. The last time _I_ wanted to falsify evidence I seem to remember you stopping me."

His eyes flashed with just a hint of anger - the type of anger that says something hit too close to home. "That was to trick a murderer into confessing to save her son. This is completely different, Cam, and we're not falsifying anything. We're just fixing her report to say what she actually meant in the first place. This _is_ different. This is to protect Bones."

The way he said it made it clear that he believed just about anything was acceptable in the name of that particular goal, but Cam wasn't swayed. "And do you really think that's how she'd see it? As I recall, she was more than a little upset with me that time. Are you certain she's going to see the distinction?"

No, actually he was pretty sure she wouldn't. "Just let me deal with Bones, okay?" And he certainly didn't have time to stay and argue about it. He tried to win her back over with his very best smile as he started hurrying out the door. "Thanks, Cam, I owe you one. You're the best."

With a shake of her head and an answering smile that she just couldn't help, she turned her attention back to her job, hoping one of her oldest and dearest friends knew what he was doing, and wondering if there was anything Booth _wouldn't_ do for his stubborn forensic anthropologist - and anything she herself wouldn't do for him.

… ooo … ooo …

Clutching the folder in his hands, Booth nervously knocked on Cullen's door, trying to gauge the older man's expression as he looked up and noticed him. He hadn't sounded too happy on the phone, and he didn't look much happier in person.

Instead of a greeting or command to enter, Cullen began by throwing some words back at Booth that sounded very, very familiar. "'The press was all over this case when it first hit, sir. Can't have the kid making mistakes, sir. Maybe a senior agent should handle this, sir, with the assistance of the Jeffersonian, so that the job is done right.' Any of this sounding familiar, Agent Booth?"

Being somewhat certain that he probably shouldn't point out that those hadn't been his _exact_ words, Booth tried a different tactic as he cautiously approached and sat down. "Sir, I..."

Paying him no attention whatsoever, Cullen just kept right on giving his version of Booth's earlier request, taking a few artistic liberties. "'If this guy gets off on a technicality, sir, it's going to look bad for the FBI. Wait, I know...let's bring in the world's leading forensic anthropologist on an already open-and-shut case, just to make sure the job is done _right._ That way, Deputy Director Cullen doesn't end up with any messy nightmares on his hands.' Well, that turned out well, didn't it?"

Booth was beginning to sweat, wondering exactly what had possessed him to tie his tie so damn tight that morning. "Sir, I know and I apologize. I have a corrected version of the report right here."

Pulling the proffered file from Booth's hand with just a bit more force than was probably really necessary, Cullen flipped it open on a sigh and read over it.

As Cullen read, Booth couldn't stay still and found himself nervously filling the silence. "This was my fault, sir, and I take full responsibility. I took Dr. Brennan back into the field on her first day back on the job, still suffering the effects of her ordeal in Albania and the drugs she was given. It's clear that she wasn't ready; but as you can see, the report has now been revised and corrected."

Having finished reading, Cullen had Booth fixed with a hard stare, making him swallow hard and stop talking.

"So she's fine now. That's what you're saying?"

At the prospect of directly lying to his boss, Booth hesitated just long enough for Cullen to catch it. "No, I didn't think so. You're just lucky I caught this before it got to Caroline Julian and she had to provide the defense a copy. This could have turned into one hell of a disaster real fast, so don't even think about asking me to change my mind on this. Your partner's out of the field until she meets with Dr. Sweets and receives a clean bill of health psychologically. You're lucky I don't do the same with you."

"Sir?" Booth questioned absently, more angry at himself for letting Cullen see through him before he could even make a case for putting Brennan back in the field. The corrected report had clearly gone a long way toward defusing Cullen's fury, but after that moment of hesitation it was beginning to look like the best Booth could hope for was to keep his own field privileges and keep Cullen and Bones far enough apart that Cullen couldn't ever mention it to her.

"Your signature was on that report too, Agent Booth. I would suggest that in the future you read what you're signing."

"Yes, sir." Cullen was one of the only people who could make him sweat just by sitting there staring at him like that. Booth finally broke the silence and asked, "Is there anything else, sir?"

"Yes. I warned you about keeping your nose clean, Booth. Maybe I should be extremely clear about what I meant: I don't want to have to see you in my office for at least a month, and I don't want to hear Dr. Brennan's name again until Sweets pronounces her psychologically fit. And then I don't want to see _her_ in my office again _ever_. Do you think that's possible, Agent Booth?"

"Yes, sir," Booth nodded. "Absolutely, sir."

Possible? Hell, that was the best idea he'd heard all day...well, other than Bones wearing those red heels he hadn't been able to stop imagining since she mentioned them. Cullen's longstanding love/hate relationship with this particular partnership was suddenly going to work in Booth's favor for a change, helping him keep his secret.

"That will be all, Agent Booth."

… ooo … ooo …

After keeping a _very_ low profile for the rest of the day, it was with great relief and just a hint of excitement that Booth walked out of the Hoover Building that night with several stops to make before landing at Brennan's apartment, starting with a stop by his apartment to pack. Not wanting to take the time to shower, he threw his toiletries in his bag. If she was going to work on her book half the night anyway, he could just shower there while she worked. On that thought, he grabbed the small TV with built-in DVD player from his bedroom and took that with him as well.

Next, he stopped by the florist's shop to pick up the next huge vase of daisies he had ordered. Seeley Booth was a gentleman, after all, who believed that you should never show up at a lady's apartment for a date empty handed. And as far as that was concerned, every time he saw her outside of work from then on was going to be a date.

The Thai restaurant was next, and he got extras of all her favorites. It was kind of nice dating a woman he already knew so well - it was a heck of a lot easier to do those nice little things for somebody when he already knew what she liked.

One final stop to the movie rental kiosk, and he had a few selections picked out: an old black and white movie he thought they might both agree on if he could manage to coax her away from her computer and into his arms long enough to watch a movie, an action thriller for him if he actually did end up sitting alone all night, and a sports highlight tape just in case he needed to get in a sports mindset so he could quote team stats to himself all night if she wasn't done torturing him.

Yep, the Seeley Booth motto: 'always be prepared for everything.' At least until he fell in love with the one woman that there was absolutely _no freaking way_ to ever be prepared enough for. Then he just changed his motto to: 'always be prepared to do fast damage control.'

Soon, he was juggling his bag, the videos, Thai food and her flowers as he knocked on her door. "Hey, Bones, it's me!"

The door actually opened rather quickly, and a most welcome sight greeted him. She had changed out of her work clothes he had last seen her in, and was now wearing jeans and a deep green scoop-neck top. Her matching jade green, slightly chunky necklace brought attention to the tiny bit of cleavage she was showing in a way that made him think that that sports highlight tape had been his best idea of the day. Bare feet peeked out at him beneath the hem of the jeans, and her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Her smile was relaxed as she stood in the doorway, her eyes quickly taking stock of everything he held, including the flowers. She wore only tiny earrings and a light amount of makeup, but he knew without a doubt that both were for him. And he thought she was the most freaking _incredible_ thing he'd ever seen. And for once, he could actually _tell_ her that without fear of crossing his damn line that he had only recently obliterated.

"Bones..." he stared at her, making no move to enter. "You look absolutely gorgeous."

Her smile grew and her cheeks pinked a little, and he knew that probably not many men had ever told her that without using it as a way to get her into bed. The idiot bastards.

"I'm hardly dressed up, Booth. I'm wearing jeans."

Yes. Yes, she was. And quite well too. "Mm-hm," he responded, letting a slow, sexy smile begin to pull up one side of his lips and spread very, very slowly across his face. "Believe me, Bones, I noticed."

Her cheeks got even pinker, to his immense delight, but she persisted in arguing with him with every bit of the tenaciousness he would have expected. "You've seen me wear jeans on numerous occasions. You've seen me wear _these_ jeans."

He was still standing in her door holding everything, grinning at her. Was it bad that he could probably even tell her the exact last _time_ he had seen her in those same jeans?

"It's called a compliment, Bones. You're going to be getting lots of them, especially if you keep looking like _that._ The customary response is, 'Thank you, Booth, and you look dashingly handsome yourself,'" he couldn't resist teasing her.

Her eyes flicked down over him and back, taking in his appearance. If he hadn't seen the approving look in them as she did so, her words might have stung. "But you're still in your work suit, Booth. You look no different than the last time I saw you."

Somehow keeping his smirk at bay, he faked a pained wince. "Ouch. That hurt, Bones. Are you going to let me in, or do I have to eat all of this delicious Thai food by myself in your hallway?"

As though she had just realized that she hadn't even invited him in, she moved aside a little awkwardly to let him pass through the door. "You didn't have to bring me more flowers."

"Nope," he smiled, putting them down on her coffee table next to one of the arrangements from earlier. "But we've been through that already. Are you ready to eat?"

"Actually..." she began, trailing off as she followed him into her kitchen where he was already making his way with the bag of food.

"Bones! You ordered pizza?" he called out in shock, seeing the unopened box sitting on her kitchen table.

"I knew you'd be here soon," she shrugged, "and I needed to take a break, so I showered and then went to go get us something to eat. There's a six pack of your favorite beer in my refrigerator."

He was simultaneously struck by two things: one, how incredibly touched he was that she had not only remembered he was coming but that she had also been so thoughtful of him; and two, worry that she must still be having problems focusing - since when did Temperance Brennan need breaks? Happiness and concern fought for dominance in him, but happiness _very_ quickly won out when he opened her refrigerator to pull himself out a _good_ beer and to get her one of those crappy world beers she loved so much.

"Bones?" he asked, a huge grin taking over his face. "What is this?" He pulled out the clear container that had caught his eye, sitting right beside his beer.

"Surely you recognize pie from the diner, Booth," she smiled, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. "It seemed to be the least that I could do," she explained with a shrug, at his happily questioning look.

Her tone and her shrug were both a little sheepish, and he recognized the gesture for what it was: she felt a little guilty about teasing him so mercilessly earlier when he had been leaving. She'd never admit it, but this was her olive branch. A quick peek inside the pizza box confirmed it - yep, it was his favorite. There was enough meat on top of the whole thing to feed an army, and it was still hot. She must have got back home just before him.

Plunking down the two beers on the table as he studied her, he had every intention of hugging her and giving her a hello kiss on the cheek, if for no other reason than to let her know there was _not a damn thing_ to apologize for. It had been sweet torment of the best kind.

But as he noticed again how soft and touchable, how fresh-faced and young, she looked in that ponytail and those jeans, he realized that there was no way in hell he could just kiss her on the cheek right then; he could kid himself all he wanted to about it: if he got that close, he'd be going for a real kiss. So at the last second he kept his hands to himself and gave himself something better to do, busying himself with removing his suit coat and hanging it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, getting comfortable to eat as he talked to her.

"What were you planning to eat, Bones? I know you wouldn't have touched that pizza with a 10-foot pole."

Her brow furrowed in confusion at his words, even as her eyes focused hard on his throat as he untied his tie, leaving it draped around his neck and hanging loosely while he unbuttoned a couple buttons on his white dress shirt.

"I don't know why I would wish to?" she replied absently as she picked up and opened their beers, still watching him and only glancing down occasionally at what she was doing.

There wouldn't be very much point in explaining the figure of speech - she wasn't really listening to him anyway, he noted smugly as he started unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, baring his forearms to her obviously eager eyes. He had only intended to get comfortable and distract himself, not put on an impromptu strip tease. But clearly that was what it had turned into, and he was totally innocent of it. It was all her. What was going on with her? Had their little conversation earlier affected her this much as well? It was pretty gratifying to know the effect he had on her, but it wasn't without its ramifications: like Pavlov's dogs salivating when they heard a bell, the sight of her desire ramped up his own exponentially.

Clearing his throat, he tried to _focus_ \- on anything other than the heated gaze she had fixed on him that was beginning to make him squirm. "Well then it's a good thing I brought your favorite Thai foods, huh? You ready to eat, Bones?"

"Are you planning to kiss me before we eat, Booth?"

His quest to retain focus suddenly seemed laughable. He was completely screwed and he knew it. "What?" he managed to gasp.

A tiny frown had worked its way onto her mouth, and she seemed oblivious to his panic. "Well you haven't sat down yet. And when you set the beers down, I thought you were going to kiss me."

"Bones, I..." Exactly how long had she been able to read him like that? It was almost scary. "I was, but I - just on the cheek. Remember? Something-in-between?"

Slowly, she nodded. "So why didn't you?"

Yeah, like he was going _there._

His Adam's apple bobbing, his eyes never left her face as he slowly took a step forward, wondering if any 40-year-old father on the face of the planet had ever been so nervous about kissing a woman on the cheek for the fifth or sixth time. She was utterly still, watching him approach, but her suddenly shallow breaths and the way her tongue darted out to moisten her lips should have given him warning what she was about to do. It didn't; it just increased the tension fourfold.

Oh-so-slowly, his hands tentatively came up to her waist, and he just stood looking down at her and holding her eyes for a moment before bending to place his lips softly against her cheek, having every intention of kissing her and releasing her if it _killed_ him.

He felt one hand come to rest on his chest, at the same moment that he felt her other hand slide around to the back of his neck. He stayed utterly still as she leaned back slightly to look at him, other than one of his hands at her waist automatically sliding around behind her back to help support her.

"Bones?" he whispered, hearing the shakiness in his voice as he struggled to retain his resolve not to just kiss her for all he was worth and put an end to in-between. "What are you doing?"

Her answer shot through him like a lightning bolt, as he instantly recognized his halfway-kidding words from his card. Should've known Temperance Brennan took _everything_ literally...

"Getting impatient."

It was her lips that crashed forcefully up into his, but he wasted _no_ time in responding, kissing her back like he wanted to devour her. She only grasped him more tightly, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck as she enthusiastically encouraged his abandonment of caution. His tongue almost instantly began probing her lower lip, practically demanding entrance - which was quickly given. His arms banded around her, pulling her in hard against him and clutching her so tightly that he was worried somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind about hurting her. His tongue swept into her mouth, and with rough desperation borne of bidding goodbye to self-restraint, he explored every inch of it. Her soft whimpers of encouragement from the back of her throat only drove him crazier as he swallowed those cries, groaning his own approval into her mouth.

Her tongue found his and began a battle for dominance; in answer, one of his hands came up and tangled in her hair, tilting her head to the angle that gave him the best advantage and holding her still there. One of her hands still pulled at the back of his neck, holding him to her, and the other was everywhere at once - his chest, his shoulders, his back - as she kissed him back with equal passion to his own. He hadn't even realized that he was advancing on her, backing her toward her refrigerator, until just before her back would have hit the door. Some remaining shred of conscious thought pierced his brain and sounded the warning bells, and at the last second he spun them so that his own back was against the door instead of shoving her against it, settling for pulling her hard against him instead as he leaned back into the door and invited her to take over.

Suddenly, both of her hands were grasping the loose ends of his tie that still hung forgotten around his neck, using it to pull him closer toward her even as she pushed harder against him, taking advantage of her new position to take control of the kiss. Her tongue pushed its way into his mouth, setting up her own exploration, much to his delight.

It wasn't until he felt her hands begin unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his shirt that he came back to his senses, both of his hands coming up between them to gently capture and still her hands as he broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Bones, wait."

"I don't want to," she told him honestly, not dissuaded in the least by the fact that he didn't allow her to capture his lips again or get her hands back. Instead, she started nipping, licking, and sucking her way across his jawline, taking her sweet time in a way that made him feel like the room was spinning.

"But Bones...oh _God..._ Bones, listen to me. We agreed..." His conscious thought trailed off as she reached his neck, his head automatically tilting to give her better access despite his verbal protests, as his hands more tightly gripped hers that he still held between them. Without warning, she nipped hard at the tender skin just under his ear, quickly soothing it with her tongue as he gasped, forgetting what he had been trying to say. " _Jesus,_ Bones."

He could actually feel it when she smiled wickedly against his neck in response to his reaction. "Mmm. Yes, we did agree. I've been thinking about that, Booth."

 _Uh-oh._

That was never a good sign.

Where had he put that sports highlight tape? And why hadn't he carried the TV in with him? Maybe he should go get it; the cool air outside would do him some good anyway...

Never in his life had he taken the coward's way out, but he was about to. No way was he going to win this battle to keep them both fully clothed and keep 'something-in-between' firmly in place if he let her tell him right then about whatever loophole she had come up with to avoid his going slow plan - a plan to which he would also love to bid a hasty farewell, but which was absolutely crucial.

It wasn't even that he didn't _want_ to hear what she had to say; it was that he wanted to hear it a little _too_ much.

If some ridiculously reckless idea came out of her mouth right then, it would make _way_ too much sense considering how little blood was left in his brain at that point, and he'd probably find himself agreeing to it way too quickly and convincing himself that if it was her idea, how could it be so bad? But, he reminded himself, it had mostly been her idea in that godforsaken motel room when he found her after she ran, and he wasn't likely to soon forget how that had ended. He just couldn't risk the same mistake twice. If he scared her and she ran at this point, it might actually kill him.

"I've been thinking too, Bones," he countered a little breathlessly, before she could say any more.

That piqued her interest - he could tell by the way she tilted her head and gave him her full attention, mercifully stopping her train of thought right in its tracks. He felt only a little guilty as he finished that sentence; it was for both of their own goods.

"About pizza," he finished with a smile that he had _always_ known she was a sucker for, even if she'd never admit it. "I'm starving."

Breaking his own promise to himself, he pressed a quick, hard kiss on her mouth to soften his mild rejection. He wasn't too worried about her reaction to his pushing her away - pressed up against him like she was, there could be little doubt in her mind about whether or not he wanted her. It was almost painfully obvious that it wasn't lack of desire that was making him push her away, and even she had to understand that _._ Releasing one of her hands, he moved his free hand to her waist to gently maneuver her slightly away from him so he could get around her. Holding tight to the hand he still held, he pulled her behind him toward the table, eager to get the safety of that table between them. "Come on, Bones. Let's eat, and we can talk about everything else later, okay?"

He risked sneaking a glance at her, and almost instantly regretted it. The sight of flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and an almost completely falling down ponytail that he knew he was responsible for had him biting back a groan and thinking he had to be the biggest idiot on the face of the planet to turn down advances from a woman that gorgeous. The knowing smirk on her lips was at once a relief and an even bigger freaking turn-on that made him want to kiss it right off of her.

He sat at the table and began piling slices of pizza onto his plate, not even watching what he was doing as his eyes locked on the sight of her arms raising over her head to pull loose her destroyed ponytail and re-fix it. As her arms stretched upward, the soft fabric of her pretty green top stretched tight against her aroused nipples, visible evidence of the fact that she was still just as turned on as he was. It wasn't like he hadn't already noticed it. It was just that seeing it in combination with her unintentionally provocative position while he was supposed to be _not_ thinking about sex had all kinds of images running through his mind, not the least of which was holding her arms up over her head almost exactly _like that_ while he slowly licked and sucked at those tempting little nubs until she was wild under him, crying out his name and begging him to...

"Hungry, Booth?" she asked with just a hint of breathless amusement.

"What?" His eyes shot up to her face, wide with the initial alarm that she had somehow read his mind - at least until he followed her eyes to his plate and realized with some relief what she meant. He'd been so busy watching her and thinking about what he'd like to do with her that he'd forgotten what he _was_ doing - which was continuing to blindly stack pizza on his plate until over half of the pizza was there.

Years of hiding his reaction to her made him flush with embarrassment, but the knowledge that things had changed between them made him bold. And he'd never said that 'something-in-between' meant he couldn't flirt with her. Far, far from it. He let the twinkle show in his eyes as he picked up his first slice. "Sorry, Bones. I was a little distracted there." Winking shamelessly at her, he lifted the first slice to his mouth. He hadn't been lying: he really was hungry, and the crisis seemed to be averted for the moment.

"Yes, I noticed you ogling my breasts," she informed him matter-of-factly, popping a bite of her Thai food into her mouth calmly.

One bite. One freaking bite, and she had already nearly made him inhale pepperoni down the wrong pipe. He was going to learn one day not to let her lull him into complacency, because one of those absurdly direct statements was almost always lurking somewhere just around the next corner. He was a master of flirtatious talk, or so he had always been told, but how the hell is a guy supposed to respond to that? Grabbing his beer, he managed to down some of it and restore his ability to breathe normally.

Finally realizing there was really no good answer to something like that, and noticing that she was calmly eating as though nothing had even happened, he decided that she wasn't really expecting a reply anyway. Instead, he began fishing desperately in his mind for a change of topic.

The only thing that came to mind made him hesitate. Did he really want to bring up anything that had the potential to make her uncomfortable? But he had wondered about it all day, and he really wanted to know how her work rewriting her chapters had gone. She seemed to be in a good enough mood, so maybe that was a good sign. And he couldn't think of anything else to say, so he decided to risk it. For some reason, the fact that she had been having difficulty writing her book bothered him even more than the mistakes in the reports.

"How did it go this afternoon with your book?"

It should have been a safe topic, at least on the sexual front. It really, really should have. But the predatory smile that suddenly pulled at her lips as she finished taking a sip of her beer and pulled it away from her mouth looked almost evil, causing him to realize that he had just walked into yet another trap.

"Quite well, actually." As he nodded, he lifted his pizza to his lips again to take another bite. He had just bitten off a large chunk of it when her bare toes made contact with his suit pants, right on the inside of his thigh. He jumped so hard that he jarred the table and almost knocked over their beers, but managed not to choke that time.

"Bones..." he warned in a low voice after he swallowed his pizza almost whole. But she paid him no mind, her eyes twinkling as she left her foot right where it was, agonizingly still.

"I've already finished rewriting two of the three chapters. I discovered an excellent source of inspiration."

Something about the way she said it told him that he either really did or really didn't want to know; it could go either way. Like a moth drawn to flame, he had to ask, trying to ignore the presence of that soft little foot against his leg.

"Are you going to tell me what those two chapters are about, or do I have to wait for the book?" he managed, wondering how the hell he had formed a coherent sentence.

"You can guess," she fired back, still looking way too pleased with herself, "and I will either confirm or deny."

 _Bad, bad, bad idea,_ his mind warned him. There was only one reason she'd make him guess, and it had nothing to do with the finer details of forensics, the skeletal system, or detailed police work. It could only mean she'd found yet another way to make him squirm. What the hell had happened to worrying about being a tease? He hadn't realized when he told her in no uncertain terms _not_ to worry about it that she'd swing completely to the other end of the spectrum. But then, he really should have.

But just because she wanted to mess with him didn't mean he had to put the noose around his own neck.

"Spine-tingling investigative work by a sinfully-handsome FBI agent who may or may not be based on me?" he teased with a happy smile and a playful tone, determined to stay out of the gutter as long as possible...

She appeared to consider his answer, her smirk only growing. "Hm. I suppose, in a sense, that guess could be considered correct." Her foot inched just the _tiniest_ bit higher. "Although it was certainly not investigation in the _traditional_ sense."

 _Walked into that one..._ He had already hung himself. Now all that was left was to decide whether to grab her ankle so she couldn't get any closer, or give in and let his body slide just a bit lower in that chair...

And then what she had actually _said_ hit him like a lightning bolt. The chapters she had had a hard time writing over the weekend were about sex? Heart pounding, he found himself grasping at the hope that just maybe things with her brain weren't quite as bad as he had thought; maybe there was a far simpler explanation for at least some of her mistakes...

Needing to focus, he reached under the table with one hand and gently grasped her ankle, pulling her foot fully into his lap and holding onto it so she couldn't start moving it again and throw him off track.

"Bones. What exactly did you write about?" All of the play had gone out of his slightly strained voice. Now he _needed_ to know.

"The chapters which my editor asked me to rewrite," she obliged, looking only slightly surprised by his suddenly serious tone, "involved a turning point in the physical relationship between the lead characters, Kathy and Andy."

His chin jerked up just a little, his eyes growing even more serious. Considering everything that had been happening between the two of them at the time she wrote it, it was little wonder that she had been unable to write a scene like that well. Only Bones would have even _attempted_ it at that point.

"A love scene, Bones?" he translated. "That's what you had turned in that your publisher wasn't happy with? And you wrote it this past weekend?"

"A sex scene, Booth," she corrected. "And that is only one of the three chapters."

"What were the other two chapters about?" he asked quietly, ignoring the somewhat fascinating idea of a chapter-long sex scene in favor of thinking that maybe he should have asked this question before. He had just assumed all of her mistakes revolved around science and police work, which was a topic that it was more difficult to understand how she could mess up. Not being able to write a love scene - or _sex_ scene - during a weekend where she was riddled with nightmares about the man her male character was based on - whether she would admit to that or not - made a lot more sense and wasn't nearly as difficult to understand.

"In one of the other two, Kathy and Andy are discussing their relationship. My publisher felt that the audience wanted to see them move more toward a romantic relationship rather than a purely sexual one, although I still don't understand why the readers should care whether..."

"And the other one?" He didn't really mean to cut her off, but he was working a theory; anytime he was doing that, slipping into interrogation mode was practically a reflex, and a near uncontrollable one at that. Plus, he didn't need any more explanation on that one; he knew exactly why she would have had a difficult time that weekend writing about changes in relationships, and the thought still made him cringe. At the time, she had just entered into a changed relationship with _him_ only to see him turn almost immediately into a possessive, controlling asshole. How could her chapter _not_ have sucked?

What was it Goodman had said all those years ago, about the writing revealing more of the writer than he or she intended? Nobody was more obliviously guilty of that than Bones, and he'd been seeing it for years. He'd be willing to bet that Andy had acted like a jerk and that was why the publisher had freaked out a little.

"They were interrogating the suspect," she shrugged. "That's the only chapter I have left to correct tonight. There was one serious flaw in the scientific reasoning, but other than typos that chapter had the fewest errors to correct."

He was nodding slowly, feeling the fist of worry that had been wrapped around his heart ever since talking to Cam that morning slowly begin to ease off. Yes, she was having difficulties focusing on work, as evidenced by her Egyptology report and the Bernadetti report - _serious_ difficulties. But suddenly things didn't seem quite as bad. He still needed to get her to talk to Sweets, desperately. But she was still in there somewhere, especially if she could recognize her own mistakes, and that fact was becoming more obvious.

As he relaxed, he allowed his thumb to begin smoothly skimming her ankle, with a smile beginning to make its way back onto his lips. "So the rewriting went well?"

Her mouth full of Thai food, she only nodded at him.

"You mentioned an excellent source of inspiration," he started, abandoning his pizza in favor of the far more enjoyable task of dropping his other hand under the table to gently massage the bottom of her foot, his eyes crinkling when she jumped a little as he inadvertently tickled the sensitive flesh. Her reaction made him do it again, before settling in with a chuckle and giving himself over to the task of trying to make her eyes roll back in her head with pleasure at his expertly performed foot massage.

"Mmmm..." she murmured, barely even hearing the question, more than a little distracted by the amazingly gentle pressure being exerted on her foot. "You have a surprisingly impressive understanding of pressure points, Booth."

His quiet chuckle seemed to go all the way through her.

"Thanks, Bones. I agree. I _am_ good at this." It hadn't taken long for his patented cocky smile to land right where it belonged.

He had expected argument, or at the very least to be taken down a peg for his cockiness, but instead she just pressed her foot deeper into his hands. "Yes, actually, you are. Quite good."

Ignoring any of the more obvious directions he could go from there, he admirably stayed on track. "So Bones? Inspiration?"

"Hm?" Her eyes, which had drifted shut, popped back open. "Oh. Yes. Although I completely changed the entire tone and direction of the sex scene between Kathy and Andy, I believe my publisher will be very pleased," she sighed happily. It was as though she wanted to get back to the direction she had originally been dragging him, but was just enjoying his impromptu foot massage too much to care.

"So Bones? Inspiration?" he repeated with amused fondness, knowing he probably should just _let it drop._

"Right." She seemed to have recovered fully, even popping another morsel of her dinner in her mouth before answering. "I simply rewrote the scene so that Kathy and Andy now act out the dream I had about us at your apartment. Actually, I found that it is much easier to write such a scene when drawing from actual fantasy about a real person."

She had been so relaxed that when his hands suddenly went completely slack, her foot fell out of them and over the side of his lap, landing against the edge of the chair's seat with a thud. "Ow! Booth, what are you doing?" she complained.

He recovered her foot quickly, mumbling an apology, but that wasn't really where his mind was. "Wait, you did what?" he practically whispered, a horrified look on his face.

Her voice became just a little louder as though he were deaf, repeating the words verbatim until he stopped her. "I simply rewrote the scene so that Kathy and Andy..."

"I heard you, Bones."

Her brow furrowed as she watched him roll that new piece of information around in his mind. "Does that bother you, Booth?" Clearly, the thought had never even occurred to her that it might.

He didn't even have an answer for that one. Several possible responses flitted through his brain, but there was really only one that he could even truly consider.

"Can I read it?"

… ooo … ooo …

It was clear that she never even considered it. "No," Brennan answered quickly on a light chuckle, the same reaction she always gave when he had suggested something that she considered to be completely absurd. "Absolutely not."

"What? _Why?"_ Booth practically pouted. "You just said it was about me!"

"No, I didn't say that," she answered him stubbornly, turning her attention back to her dinner as he absently thought to himself that it was a good thing at least _one_ of them was still capable of eating right then. "Because it's _not_ about you, Booth. It's about Kathy and Andy. They're simply...doing what I imagined us doing."

She could swing his emotions back and forth so fast it wasn't even funny; in just the last five minutes, he had been all over the gamut from blissfully happy to worried about her, and then from so turned on he couldn't think straight to complete shock at her oh-so-casually stated _insane_ revelation. And at that current point, shock was quickly giving way to enough frustration to make him want to bang his head against the table.

"Which _makes_ it about me. About _us,_ Bones. I'm not even asking to read your whole manuscript. Just let me read that chapter."

"No," she stated unequivocally, taking a calm sip of her beer.

"But _why?"_ he repeated himself.

"You can read my book - my _whole_ book - when it comes out, like always."

"Like always?" He was starting to sound a little whiny and he knew it, but he didn't really care at the moment. That particular wheedling tone of voice had usually got him what he wanted from most women for the last 40 years of his life, so why stop now? "But it's not 'like always', Bones. Things are different now between us, so you can put any spin you want on it: that chapter is about _us._ And besides," he finished, sounding a little hurt, "you let that cult guy read your manuscript when you were with _him."_

His tone made it clear just how much he hated _that_ idea, and it brought a tiny twinkle to her eyes. Anthropologically, she knew exactly what metaphorical button that thought pressed, and how to push it just a little harder. "Yes, David and I _were_ together when I allowed him to read my manuscript. But you and I are not completely 'together.' We're something-in-between, correct?"

It had the intended effect, causing a dangerous glint in his eyes. With fascination, she watched the sudden clench in his jaw and felt the possessive, ever-so-slight tightening of his hand on her ankle, which had lain forgotten in his grasp since he picked it back up after dropping it when she first dropped her little bombshell. "Bones, 'something-in-between' for you and me still means a hell of a lot more than 'together' ever did for either of us with anyone else. And you know it." His voice was low, determined, but with just a hint of pleading in it for her to agree.

And so she did, her eyes softening somewhat as she relented and let him off the hook. "I would agree with that assessment, Booth. I certainly have never told another man that I love him."

Whether she had been trying to win the argument or not, that certainly did it. Since the first time she said it to him when she awakened him after his nightmare in her apartment, she had never said it again despite the fact that he had said it multiple times. Technically she _still_ hadn't said it again, but it was still confirmation of her feelings and it still had the effect of laying his heart wide open like she had sliced through it with a knife.

"Bones..." His heart was in his eyes - _had_ to be - and he just didn't care. Every bit of frustration had just washed right out of him. "Jesus, Bones, I love you too, so much. If I didn't..."

He realized the implications of what he'd been about to say and cut himself off, but it was too late. She already wanted to hear the end of that sentence, and there was little chance she'd let him off the hook twice in one conversation. "If you didn't...then what?"

So much for playing it safe and turning the conversation to less dangerous topics. His suddenly dry mouth swallowed, his voice going more than a little husky as he completed the thought that he hadn't really thought through before it started coming out of his mouth. "If I didn't, I'd never be able to _be_ just something-in-between with you."

That statement along with the unspoken subtext - _'If I didn't, I'd never be able to keep my hands to myself; If I didn't, I'd never be able to make it through this night or even this conversation without jumping you' -_ changed the entire atmosphere of the room, which was suddenly so super-charged with electricity that each of them could only hear the other's breathing, along with their own pulses thundering in their ears.

She was first to break the stillness, pulling her ankle away and down to the floor so she could stand. With his eyes locked on her face and unable to say a word, he watched as she pushed her chair back, stood, and began approaching him with an uncertainty he wouldn't have expected from the very sexually self-assured woman who had spent four years making him squirm. Not for the first time, he was struck by the fact that adding love to the equation made things so very different for her - as did what had happened to them in Albania, which was the only thing helping him to cling to the fine thread of self-control that she currently seemed determined to sever.

Other than to clasp his suddenly empty hands together under the table to keep them where they were, the only move he made was his head, tilting it back to look up at her the closer she got. She closed the few steps around the table between them, coming to rest at his side. When she placed a hand on his shoulder with her fingers just brushing his neck, his eyes fluttered shut for just a moment as he breathed deeply. He sat utterly still, watching her, waiting to see what her next move would be.

"Booth?" she asked, almost uncertainly, and he only nodded once by way of response, his eyes never leaving hers as he sat looking up at her, not sure of his own ability to speak at that moment.

"I don't want you to read it...but if you'd like, I could show you."

That time his whole body jerked as he flinched, his eyes slamming shut as he sucked in one swift, short breath. He hadn't expected that, but that tiny bit of uncertainty in her voice and in the way she had approached him told him all he needed to know: she wasn't ready, no matter how badly she wanted to be. There was no longer a doubt in his mind that she wanted him. She had made that very plain. That knowledge, though it made him wildly happy, didn't make what he needed to do any easier; if anything, it only increased his own level of responsibility and the amount of caution he needed to exercise. Starting _immediately._

The strain in his voice was impossible to hide when his suddenly black-as-coal eyes reopened and tried to focus on her as he answered. Equally impossible to conceal was the tension in his body. Even the muscles of his shoulders rippled beneath her fingers like a spring coiled too tightly, ready to unwind with sudden, violent force. She had no idea what she was doing to him with that simple offer. "Not right now, Bones," he almost begged at a near whisper.

Her eyes searched his, the arousal in them just as evident as in his own. "I _want_ to show you."

Her fingers were no longer still at his neck, fluttering and brushing against the suddenly supersensitive skin there, and he drew a shuddery breath as he answered. "You don't know how much I want you to do _exactly_ that, but it's not a good idea right now. I'm at the end of my rope here, Bones," he told her honestly.

"I don't know what that means," she replied almost reflexively to his colloquialism, but her suddenly stilled fingers told him she knew _exactly_ what he meant.

"It means," he told her softly, finally unclasping his hands to reach up and take hold of her hand on his neck to pull it away and give it a kiss before dropping it completely so that they weren't touching in any way, "that you're going to go finish working on your other chapter now, while I take a shower and get ready for bed. It means we're dropping this topic for the rest of the night."

Getting the idea, she took a step back. "Towels are in the hall closet," she told him, her slightly disappointed but still _very_ dark eyes fixed on him intently. "There should be plenty of hot water left."

Yeah, he had no doubt of _that_. _None_ would be more than enough. "Thanks, Bones." He stood and made his way to the door out of the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder when he could no longer feel her eyes on him.

She had turned to begin tidying up the kitchen, and every impulse he had told him to stay and help her - except for his common sense, which was screaming to get out of there _fast_ before his self-control could be further tested. The last thing he needed to be doing right then was standing there watching her at all, and he sure as hell didn't need to be looking at her perfectly shaped little ass encased in those damn jeans when she bent to put the leftovers in the refrigerator.

"Hey, Bones?" He heard his own voice and knew that this was it: he was officially a masochist. "I'm going down to the truck to get my TV. When I get out of the shower I'm gonna watch a movie. Did you want to watch it with me?"

She never even slowed down her work of putting the extra food in the refrigerator and their dishes in the dishwasher. "I will most likely still be working, but perhaps I could join you when I finish. If you get hungry, the rest of your pizza is in the refrigerator, and don't forget that you have pie to eat, as well."

The domesticity of that statement started a slow smile across his face. If he thought about it hard enough, he could actually feel what normal married _life_ with Bones would be like. Her working, the two of them curling up with a movie, and her reminding him about pie in the refrigerator - right alongside pizza and _his_ beer. And then later, the two of them vying for dominance in _their_ bed before eventually they both gave in and made each _other_ scream. And the best part: curling up in each other's arms to sleep afterward, just like the night before and the night before, and all the nights to come, with no worries that she wouldn't be his the next morning every bit as much as she was at night. He wanted that so badly he could almost taste it, and never had it seemed more possible.

"I love you, Bones." His tone was very, very serious, but the happy smile on his face took some of the intensity out of the moment.

She seemed surprised by what, to her, must have seemed to be the utter randomness of that statement. But after blinking at him for a moment, she smiled a smile that had his breath catching in his throat. He had never seen pure happy contentment on her face before, at least not related to anything other than mummies or ancient bones. But this time, he had caused it. "I love you too, Booth."

Most women would have sealed it with a kiss, or a hug, or some other action. She just took his breath away by saying it in the first place, and then pulled a rag out of her sink to wipe down the table. Halfway through the task of cleaning the table, she turned and looked at him with a quizzical expression as he stood there watching her. "Did you need something else?"

That one didn't even take thought. He probably wouldn't stop smiling for a week. "Nope. I've got everything I need, Bones."

… ooo … ooo …

After falling asleep on Brennan's couch halfway through the movie, lulled by the soft clack-clack of her typing on her laptop in the kitchen where she had set up her computer to have a slightly quieter place to work, the next thing Booth was aware of was the soft sound of cries that had him instantly awake and on edge.

"Bones?" he called, almost reflexively, before sitting up to realize she was nowhere to be found and someone had turned the TV off. Shoving off the blanket she must have thrown over him, he rolled up and onto his feet and made his way to the kitchen - the last place he had seen her - in search of the noise he had heard. But all he found was her laptop, sitting alone on the kitchen table with no sign of its owner.

The cry sounded again, louder this time, and he instantly started double-timing it toward her bedroom. His mind put all of the pieces together in an instant: he had fallen asleep, taking up the entire couch, so rather than disturb him she had just gone to bed. And now she was having a nightmare. It wasn't even a question of whether or not he was going to go to her. It was just a question of whether or not his presence would make it worse or better: and he knew that the answer to that question lay in the content of the dream. Was it him tormenting her in her sleep? God, he hoped not.

When he cautiously pushed open her bedroom door which she had left only slightly ajar, the sight in front of him twisted his heart from the inside out. In her dream induced terror, she had managed to entrap herself hopelessly in her bedclothes, which had become restraining bonds she fought with the same passion that she fought her dream attacker. Her head tossed back and forth, slightly covered by the pillow which was now partially over her head rather than under it, probably exacerbating her fright.

Booth's heart pounded as he watched her, terror filling him at the thought of approaching. She was _in her bed_ , which he must surely have known coming down the hall, but it suddenly really _hit_ him when he saw her. This was not where he needed to be, and not because of any inability to control himself. There was nothing sexual about this. He didn't need to be there because he couldn't risk traumatizing her any further when she woke up to find him there if it was him attacking her in her sleep. He had held no intention of going anywhere near a bed with her until they could work through some of her fear, even under the best circumstances. And these were the worst circumstances he could think of.

But he couldn't leave her to keep suffering, either. She made very little noise as she thrashed about, making him wonder just how long it had already been going on. And that was the thought that propelled his feet that first crucial step forward, the first step making the rest easier until he knelt just beside her bed, reaching up to start disentangling the pillow and some of the covers from around her.

"Bones...Bones, it's Booth. Wake up, Bones. You're having a nightmare."

"Booth!" The cry was panic stricken, and one that he felt shoot straight through him like a lightning bolt. She still wasn't awake, but he knew that thanks to the sound of his voice he was now part of her nightmare, whether he had been before or not.

He had finally managed to unwrap the blankets from around her and free her flailing limbs, only then noticing that she had clearly not expected him to be coming into her room that night. She slept in a black tanktop that covered enough to be considered decent, but she wore nothing underneath other than her panties, a tiny little scrap of black satin. His mind registered a strip of skin between the hem of the tanktop and the top of the panties as well, but only for the half-second that it took him to react by covering her lower half with one of the blankets he had just removed from her. Other than incidental contact from his removal of the blankets, he still hadn't touched her, remaining on his knees at her bedside.

"Bones, I need you to wake up. You're safe. It's Booth. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Come _on_ , baby, wake up." His voice had started out admirably calm, but became more desperate by the second as she continued to fight, each whimper cutting him to the bone and making him forget everything he had researched on how to deal with her nightmares.

"No! Booth!" He still couldn't tell if she was calling for him or pleading with him to stop, which only increased his desperation.

"Bones, I'm here! Come on, Temperance, please." He reached for her, but a moment too late: her movements had already moved her away from him toward the center of the huge bed, putting her almost out of reach.

"Booth! Please!" He had no idea if her 'please' was just in reaction to her hearing him say it in her dream, or if she was truly begging for his help. It didn't matter. His decision was already made. Without hesitation, he climbed up onto the bed with her to kneel just beside her, his arms reaching out for her.

"I've got you, Bones. It's all right. Shhhhh..." Carefully, he began sitting her up and pulling her toward him, ready for any sign that she was interpreting his actions as an attack or an attempt to restrain her.

He knew the moment that she awakened, when her whole body jerked and she gasped just before he pulled her fully into the circle of his arms, both of her hands flying up to grab at his biceps. Booth froze in place, his hands still on her, his mouth slightly open and his eyes searching hers for reaction as he silently prayed that she wouldn't think the worst. Wide, desperate blue eyes found his face, taking a moment for them to focus and for recognition to dawn there.

"Booth?" She was breathing hard from her ordeal, her entire body shaking, but he didn't dare move to finish pulling her to him.

"It's okay, Bones." He hadn't realized he was breathing just as hard as she was, his own hands shaking against her and his voice even more shaky. "I woke up and I heard you having a nightmare. I was just..."

The feel of her fingernails digging into the skin of his back was the next sensation he was aware of, as she cut off his stammered explanation by launching herself the rest of the way into his arms and holding on tight - much like she had done in her apartment years before when they discovered the blood she thought must have have been her brother's. She clutched him like a life raft as she continued to tremble.

"Okay...okay," he murmured as he wrapped strong arms securely around her by way of response, his face dropping into her hair. "I've got you, Bones. I'm not letting go." Shifting from his knees to a sitting position on her bed, he easily pulled her into his lap, keeping the blanket pulled over her lap and just simply ignoring the fact that underneath that blanket the thin material of his sweatpants was the only barrier between skin-on-skin contact as she sat barelegged in his lap, her bottom half covered only by that tiny scrap of satin.

He did nothing but softly stroke her back and whisper soothing sounds until her breathing and her trembling both slowed a little, although her racing heartbeat still concerned him. Finally, he spoke, his voice still gentle and calm with only a hint of shakiness to reveal just how badly she had scared him. "Your dream, Bones. Was it about - was I there?"

She just nodded against his chest, which did little to answer his real question. Squeezing her a little more tightly, he tried again. "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Her face, the side of which had been pressed against his chest, turned as she spoke so that he could feel her lips moving against his flesh even through the t-shirt he wore. Her arms, which had kept a death grip on him, loosened as her hands worked their way under his shirt, rubbing over flesh and toned muscle. Believing that she probably just needed skin-on-skin contact for comfort, he didn't try to stop her.

"I think we need to talk about it, Bones. It could be important," he insisted gently, fully unprepared for what was to happen next. He was far more concerned with the fact that her non-answer seemed to confirm his worst fears: the nightmare was about him.

She pulled back, and he saw the desperate determination in her eyes, an unhinged wildness there that sent a shiver down his spine. "I said I don't want to talk about it, Booth." Before he could even react, she had turned in his lap and straddled him, the blanket falling away as one of her smooth thighs took up residence on the outside of each of his thighs, her knees planted close to his hips.

"Bones..." His eyes grew wide and his mouth hung uselessly open, as the connection between thought and speech short-circuited.

"What I want is to forget."

With that, she attacked him desperately, her arms banding about his neck and one hand fisting in his hair so hard that it hurt. She kissed him with a frantic neediness that he recognized immediately, one which made his course of action utterly clear.

There could be no doubt exactly what he needed to do.

Ever since his discussion with Sweets about what had happened between them in the hotel room he tracked her to, where things had gotten out of control and she had fled, he had been wary of Sweets' warning that something like this might happen. He had feared and dreaded such a moment, unsure what his own reactions would be.

In actual practice, however, feeling the adrenaline and terror-fueled way she was going after him, it was actually a far less difficult test than he had anticipated. He had had a much more difficult time putting a stop to things in her kitchen earlier that very evening, mostly because that time he had known her advances were motivated by true desire.

But this had nothing to do with desire. This was a desperate attempt on her part to restore normalcy in one quick moment, an attempt to sear traumatizing images right out of her brain by replacing them, an attempt to seek comfort and reassurance in completely the wrong way.

And there was no way in hell he was letting this happen - not like this. It wasn't something he even had to think twice about.

He had returned that first kiss almost by instinct, but almost immediately he stopped. Carefully, he got hold of her upper arms and pulled her back away from him, trying to stop her without hurting her. He didn't retain his grip there for very long: stopped from being able to kiss him, her lower body ground against him as she still desperately sought contact. Instantly, his hands shot down to her hips, grasping them to still her movements and lift her slightly off of him. He had completely forgotten his hands would be meeting almost bare flesh, but he didn't have long to focus on it. The amount of hurt in her eyes was like a physical blow to him, giving him an instant need to reassure her.

"Bones, listen to me. I know you want to forget, and I'm going to help you, but this isn't the way to do it. We can't do this tonight, baby." With her movement stilled, his hands had come back up to just beneath her shoulders, as he tried desperately to make her understand.

"I'm fine, Booth!" she insisted, although the tear-stained cheeks and still trembling body spoke more loudly than her words.

"You're still having nightmares about me, Bones," he reminded her, firmly but as soothingly as possible. "This isn't going to make them go away. It's only going to make them worse. Not tonight, Bones. Just not tonight, okay? Not like this."

"I want you to make love to me, Booth," she told him in a voice so deceptively calm and assured that he almost might have believed her if the memory of what he had just seen wasn't so fresh. Considering how long he had waited to hear those words from her, hearing them come out of her mouth in such a _wrong_ situation almost hurt - because he knew she was only throwing them out there as a last-ditch attempt, knowing the effect they would have on him. But she wasn't herself, and he had to remember that.

"I'm _going_ to make love to you, Bones, I promise you. Just as soon as I know you're okay and that it's really okay. But it's not okay tonight, and making love is not what this would be."

"What would this be?" she asked him, her voice full of challenge.

"I can tell you _exactly_ what it would be: it would be me taking advantage of a woman that loves me and trusts me. Don't ask me to do that. I've never taken advantage of a woman in my life, and I'm not starting with the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Her eyes stayed locked on his for another few seconds before falling into her lap, unwilling to look at him any longer. But just before they dropped, he saw the sheen of fresh tears there. He also saw a brief glimpse of the humiliation that had prompted those tears, as the adrenaline and determined terror which had fueled her actions slowly faded and she began to return to normal, guided by his steady words.

He wanted to make her look at him, but decided not to push her. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around her and held her as close as he could, despite the fact that she was still straddling his lap in next to nothing. If she could ignore that fact, so could he.

"Let me take care of you, Bones. Can you do that for me? Let me take care of you for the rest of tonight."

"I'm fine, Booth. I'm sorry. I'm okay," she told him, her voice growing stronger. "I don't need you to do anything."

He wasn't about to let her get away with withdrawing from him. "I know you don't. But I need to do it. So just let me do this, okay?"

"Do what?" she asked him, a sleepy tone taking over her voice as she relaxed in his arms.

His hands dropped down to span her waist, easily lifting her and setting her off to the side of him as though she weighed nothing. His legs freed, he was able to shift so that he could get up off the bed. Never losing complete contact with her, he bent and carefully maneuvered her so that he could lift her into his arms, bridal carry style.

Even as she protested, her head dropped over against his shoulder and her arm wrapped around his neck. "What are you doing, Booth?"

"I'm bringing you back to the couch with me so we can both get some sleep."

"We could just stay here," she mumbled, sounding more sleepy by the moment.

"We could, but we aren't."

"I can walk, Booth."

"I'm sure you can. But I don't think _I_ can walk without carrying you, so just help me out here, huh?"

He could just _feel_ her tolerant smile without even having to see it. "That makes no sense at all."

She could hear the answering, totally adoring smile in his voice. "Just go with it, Bones."

He had reached her couch by that time, and he laid her gently down on it. "Wait right here. I'll be right back." With a light kiss on her forehead, he retreated back to her room.

He only had to pull open a few drawers - including, unfortunately, her underwear drawer - before finding a soft pair of sweatpants that she probably used for working out. Those in hand, he returned to the couch to find her already sound asleep.

Grabbing the blanket he had shoved to the floor when he jumped up earlier, he threw it over her, laying the sweatpants within her easy reach and just hoping she'd either find them or he'd remember to tell her they were there the next morning before she decided to spring out of bed to get ready for work.

He wasn't able to find her sleeping bag anywhere that she had used the night she slept on the floor by him, but leaving her alone there was no more of an option than disturbing her to find a place on the couch with her.

Giving up, he just lay down on the floor next to the couch, although it was quite a long time before sleep finally came.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

"Booth...Booth! You need to move up here."

It was only a couple hours later that he was being poked and prodded in a way that made him want to pull his soft pillow back over his head and go to sleep - until he realized he didn't _have_ a soft pillow. Nor did he have a soft bed. He was still on the floor beside Brennan's couch.

Turning, his first act of the morning was to wince in pain as his back protested the treatment it had received. He couldn't have got up if he wanted to.

"I'm fine, Bones. You keep the couch," he muttered without opening his eyes.

She made an exasperated sound from somewhere near him, and he finally opened his eyes to see her fully dressed, kneeling next to him where he lay between her and the couch. "I'm going to work, Booth. It's morning. You shouldn't have slept on the floor. Why didn't you wake me back up?"

"Why didn't you wake me up when _you_ went to bed first?" he grumbled, ignoring for a moment the fact that he was a little confused why she was going to work in the first place. "You started it."

One delicate eyebrow arched at him. "I see that back pain still causes you to revert to juvenile patterns of behavior."

Through the fog of sleepiness and pain, it took a little longer than normal to translate that into something that made sense to him. "Sorry, Bones. I just - wait, are you calling me a baby?"

"Well," she answered glibly. "Not necessarily a baby. Had that been my intended implication, I would have said 'infantile' patterns of behavior."

"Oh, gee, thanks." After a beat, he went ahead and gave her what she was clearly waiting for. "So are you going to help me get up or not?"

With a tiny smile, she reached under his arms from behind as he rolled to his side, helping to lift him to a sitting position and then onto the couch. Determined not to reinforce her opinion that he was being a baby, he managed somehow not to whimper like one during the process - although not without great difficulty.

"Are you all right, Booth?" she asked once he was settled into a sitting position on the couch. "Do you need me to..."

"I'm fine," he lied, faking a megawatt smile that looked only vaguely like a grimace, waving her off from her obvious intention to do her 'magic' thing that would fix his back. "I just need to move around, you know, work the kinks out."

"All right," she agreed, not looking convinced but not prepared to argue the point either. "Perhaps we should spend tonight at your place."

He hurt too much to even mentally leap for joy, at both the prospect of his more comfortable couch and that particular combination of words coming from her mouth.

"Uh-huh. Sounds great, Bones. Have a good day."

"You're not going to kiss me?" she asked very seriously, biting her bottom lip to hide a smile at the distressed look on his face at the idea of getting up.

"Sure, Bones," he said finally, in a voice that did little to refute her 'big baby' claims, as he actually made a move to get up.

Stopping him, she came to him instead, leaned forward, and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. "Bye, Booth." She lingered for just a moment, as though thinking about something. "And thank you. For last night, I mean."

That time his small smile was genuine. "Any time, Bones. Thank you for letting me take care of you."

She had every intention of taking care of him - and his back - later on that night at his apartment, in much the same way he had taken care of her the night before. But if he refused to just ask for her help and let her fix his back before she left, she also had no problem letting him sweat it out for the rest of the day until she arrived at his apartment and gave him no choice but to let her fix it. It wasn't as though he would be permanently harmed, after all.

"Okay. Bye."

"Hey, Bones, wait...why are you going to work? Yesterday you said..."

"I agreed not to request a leave of absence until further discussion with you. We haven't discussed it yet, therefore I am going to work."

"Oh," was all he managed, wishing his back didn't hurt so he could jump up and hug her. Apparently she expected no reaction, however, as she grabbed her bag and exited the apartment almost immediately when she was done speaking.

He waited for the click of the door closing before dropping his head back against the seat and groaning - in a manly way of course - for quite some time before he finally made his _very_ slow way into the bathroom for a nice, hot morning shower to ease his aching muscles so he could get ready for work.

… ooo … ooo …

At 10:00 A.M. on the dot, the fast _click-click_ of high-heeled shoes announced Angela's arrival in Brennan's office, the wearer of those shoes carrying a large vase of daisies.

Brennan looked up, confusion crossing her face. "Not you too?"

A mirroring expression crossed Angela's features. "What? Oh, no, sweetie, these aren't from me. I intercepted the delivery boy. You gave him a handsome tip, by the way."

"You pretended to be me?"

"Yes, because otherwise I might never get an answer out of you."

"How does assuming my identity and absconding with my flowers procure a reply?"

Angela rolled her eyes. "Sweetie, you really suck at this whole girl talk thing. I'm threatening not to give you the flowers until you tell me what I want to know."

Brennan shrugged. "I'm quite certain Booth would simply send more if you refused to do so." Her head cocked to the side a little in curiosity. "But what _do_ you want to know?"

As though waiting for that particular prompt, Angela turned the vase so that Brennan could see the front of it. There, sticking out among the daisies, was one lone daffodil, worked into the arrangement in such a way that the effect was actually quite breathtaking.

"I want to know what's with the one daffodil," Angela explained, rather needlessly at that point. "And don't tell me you don't know, Brennan, because I know you do. Dozens and dozens of daisies and now one daffodil? Don't even _try_ to hold out on me. I know Booth, and Booth has a reason." Leaning forward, Angela dropped her voice suggestively. "Did you two..."

"No," was the almost too quick answer.

Brennan's brow was a little furrowed, but she had never been accused of having a steep learning curve for nothing. Quickly, her brain adapted and applied her most recently acquired knowledge having to do with receiving flowers, particularly flowers from Booth: "We should look for a card before jumping to any conclusions."

Angela smiled at her shamelessly. "Tried that. There's not one."

"Then I don't know."

"Brennan!"

"What? Why are you shouting my name? You're the one who was going to read my card."

Angela narrowed her eyes at her. "If you're holding out on me, Bren, I will find out."

Brennan nodded, her lips pressed together and curved downward in an expression that indicated agreement. "I have no doubt of it."

… ooo … ooo …

At 10:30 on the dot, her phone rang.

She never even bothered with a greeting.

"Booth, you might want to consider requesting that your florist use a different delivery person."

"Why?" he asked in surprise, knowing immediately she was talking about the flowers. "What happened? Did the guy say something to you?" It was a pretty instinctive reaction, despite the fact that he knew without a doubt she could have taken care of that very effectively without his help.

"No," came the immediate reaction, "But he lost my card."

Shoulders he hadn't even realized he had tensed fell back into a more naturally relaxed state. "There wasn't a card, Bones." God, he was really enjoying this. That pouty tone to her voice about a nonexistent card that she would _never_ admit meant something to her put a smile on his face despite his miserably sore back.

"There wasn't?"

"Nope."

Silence.

"So why was there one daffodil?"

"Guess."

"I don't like surprises, Booth."

"The heck you don't."

More silence.

"I'm not going to guess."

His cocky smile carried right through the phone lines. "No problem. I guess you won't get an answer then." After a pause, he cleared his throat. "Hey, the reason I called... can you go to lunch? I know it's early, but..."

"That's fine. I'm simply reviewing all of my reports I've written since Albania."

That made him cringe. "Okay, Bones. You can be at the diner at 11:00 then?"

"You're not coming to pick me up?" she asked in surprise.

"Uh...no, why don't you just get us a table and wait for me there?" Something in his voice caught her attention, but she couldn't explain what it was.

"That's fine. I'll see you at 11:00."

He hesitated at that one.

"Yeah...hey, Bones?"

"Yeah?

"You know I love you right?"

As usual, she gave a very honest answer. "You've given no indications that would prove otherwise."

"Mm-hm." He sounded a little nervous. "Just remember that, okay?"

Again, she was painfully honest "I'm not likely to forget. My actual memory doesn't seem to be affected by..."

"Bones! I didn't mean..." He sighed, sounding more nervous than she ever remembered hearing him. "Just keep in mind that I'd do anything for you, okay?"

"All right," she answered slowly. "Is everything all right, Booth?"

Another pause caught her attention. "Yeah, Bones. I think it will be. Love you." _Click_

… ooo … ooo …

At 11:05, she was beginning to become impatient as she sat at their normal diner table, waiting for Booth to appear. Checking her watch and pulling out her phone, she began dialing his number, confusion evident on her face when it went straight to voicemail. She disconnected without leaving a message, then stared at the phone for another moment or two before hitting the redial button.

She disconnected that call as well, however, when a familiar voice sounded out from behind her - a voice which explained Booth's absence perfectly.

Dr. Gordon Wyatt.

"Ah! If it isn't the exquisitely stunning and breathtaking Dr. Brennan! If you don't mind my saying, an encounter with such a marvelous combination of beauty and brains is quite enough to brighten even the cloudiest of days."

Turning in her seat, she came face to face with the smiling and self-assured man behind her - but there was nothing sunny about the look on her face.

"Booth," she stated with certainty. "Booth sent you."

Gordon Gordon Wyatt did little to deny that as he sat across from her with a shrug and smile. "Or perhaps you and I simply share a love of potatoes which have been mutilated and drenched in hot grease until they no longer remotely resemble a vegetable. And this shared enthusiasm has brought us together as we both seek to fulfill our entirely unhealthy cravings in this fine establishment."

"Booth sent you," she repeated.

A slow smile spread across the older man's face. "Yes, perhaps he did. Or perhaps he didn't. Tell me, Dr. Brennan, why you automatically assume that it _must_ be Agent Booth who cares enough for your wellbeing to intervene."

… ooo … ooo …

"You can't be serious." Her tone was one of vaguely amused superiority mixed with indignation.

Gordon, Gordon Wyatt leaned forward slightly. "On the contrary, Dr. Brennan, I am quite eager to hear your response to my question."

A disbelieving sound shot out of Brennan's lips to indicate how utterly dense she thought he was to ask such an obvious question. "Of course it was Booth. No one else would do this. He told me to meet him here at 11:00 for lunch. He's _not_ here, and you _are_ here." Again, her tone left little doubt how she felt about that particular turn of events.

"He set me up," she finally concluded, in a tone so plaintive and sounding so betrayed that one might have thought Booth had arranged for her execution rather than a simple meeting with a kindly older psychologist.

At that tone, a tiny smile pulled at Gordon-Gordon's lips. "Ah, he asked you to _meet_ him for lunch, did he? So we can be expecting Agent Booth to join us as well, then. Well that _is_ excellent."

Her eyes narrowed, studying him, as she wished for at least the millionth time that she had Booth's knack for reading people. "Not if he knows what's good for him," she shot back bluntly, but still felt the need to clarify after use of such an imprecise phrase which she obviously must have picked up from spending too much time around Booth. "That means that it would be extremely inadvisable for him to do so right now."

"Oh, come now, Dr. Brennan," Gordon-Gordon gently scolded, his eyes twinkling. "I can hardly believe that Agent Booth has committed any sin so sordid as to be deserving of violence on your part. In fact, the fellow prides himself on being a man of his word, awash in noble ideals of chivalry. If he did indeed _specifically_ tell you that he will meet you for lunch, then I feel that we can be quite certain he has every intention of doing so."

As if on cue, her cell phone rang, not quite drowning out the delighted chuckle from the man across from her as she replayed her conversation with Booth in her head, realizing that never once had he _actually_ said he'd be there. She stared at Booth's name on the display as though it was a snake preparing to bite her, making no move to answer.

Curiosity - or perhaps the urge to yell at Booth - won out over her sudden desire not to talk to him, and she finally stabbed the button to answer the call, just a little viciously.

"So where are you, Booth?"

But she had waited a moment too long - he was already gone. Within moments, as she sat staring at her phone trying to decide whether or not to call him back, while Gordon-Gordon ordered himself a cup of tea and studied her quietly, the phone suddenly beeped to indicate an incoming text message.

 _'On the way to a scene, got a case. Sorry - I'll make this up to you.'_

Not even the feel of Gordon-Gordon's knowing eyes on her enabled her to hide the twinge of pain she felt knowing that Booth was on his way to a case without her - a case from which she was forbidden by his boss.

Glancing up, her expression grew guarded to hide her sudden doubt - but not quite quickly enough. "That doesn't prove anything," she threw at him haughtily, not quite sure when it had become a competition. "Whether or not he intended to be here doesn't matter. Booth is obviously still the one who sent you. He's the one who keeps insisting that I submit to Sweets' pointless psychological testing."

At that, Gordon's eyebrows rose. "Actually, it was my understanding that it was the FBI which _ordered_ you to receive counseling prior to returning to the field - counseling which you stubbornly refuse to accept."

Her silence was answer enough, and he leaned back in his seat after accepting his tea from the waitress, watching Brennan's reaction carefully. "I am correct about that, am I not? It was the FBI's decision? Or do you in some way believe that to be Agent Booth's fault as well?"

Staring at him across the table, her eyes flashed angrily. Finally, after giving his question all of the due consideration she felt it deserved - which was very, very little - Brennan grabbed her bag and started to rise from her seat.

"I'm sorry that you wasted a trip, Dr. Wyatt, but I don't have time for this and Booth should have known that. I'm very busy at work."

"Ah, splendid," beamed Gordon Gordon, making no effort to stop her. "So you have indeed decided that you _are_ well enough to throw yourself back into the unmatchable therapy of productivity, without a leave of absence. I am delighted to hear it. Personal worth, they say, is earned through hard work, which makes the industrious man the equal of kings."

Brennan only glared at him as she pulled out a couple bills to pay for the coffee she had already ordered and received while she waited for Booth.

The remarkably calm man at the table twisted slightly in his seat to call after her as she began to walk away. "I am, however, curious about one thing. What would be your reaction if I told you that it was in fact _not_ Agent Booth who first contacted me and suggested that I meet with you?"

She froze in place, indecision evident in her frame before she finally turned back to face him. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes," she answered, but not without a moment's hesitation. Her fingers twisted uncertainly around the phone she still held in her hand. "Booth's the only one who knew I would be here."

"I see. This, then, is your first lunch at this particular establishment?"

The answer came automatically, as he knew it would. "Of course not. Booth and I eat here almost every day..." She trailed off as she realized what she had just admitted - and that he, of course, already knew that - but she still wasn't prepared to give in. "Booth's the only one who knew what time I would be here. I'm never here this early." She said it triumphantly, clearly not expecting him to be able to dispute that point.

He never even flinched. "And a proper British fellow such as myself can linger for hours over a hearty cup of tea and a newspaper." Pulling the latter item out of his inner coat pocket, he brandished it like a trophy. "Perhaps I came here prepared to wait you out, only to be surprised by your presence here at such an early hour."

Only a few seconds of silence passed before she gave in, conceding his point and taking a couple steps closer back to the table. Now that she had a mystery to solve, she couldn't abandon it so quickly. "It had to be Booth. There's no one else who would do this."

"Isn't there?" he asked, and watched in fascination as the wheels began to turn.

"Angela. It was Angela, wasn't it?"

Waving a dismissive hand, the clever man turned his attention to perusing the front page of that newspaper, as though he had no interest in whether she chose to stay or leave. "Oh, come now, Dr. Brennan, you yourself just told me that Booth is the _only_ person who could possibly be responsible for my alarming presence here. You have pronounced the mystery solved, found the perpetrator guilty. Surely you don't now intend to blame Ms. Montenegro?"

Almost without even realizing it, she sat back down. "Okay, fine. Cam."

"Dr. Saroyan?" he repeated disbelievingly in his mild way, finally looking up from his newspaper. "Is she a suspect now as well? Fascinating."

"She's concerned that I will continue to make mistakes which could be detrimental to the reputation of the Jeffersonian," Brennan clarified a little defensively.

"An utterly enthralling theory," Gordon shook his head, fully focused on her now, "and not necessarily an unbelievable one. As your coworkers, both of those equally intriguing candidates are almost certainly as aware of your presence here at the diner at this moment as is Agent Booth." Seeing her victorious look, he quickly shot her down. "But, I am afraid, you are quite wrong."

"Sweets," she immediately tried next, not being familiar with the proverbial concept of 'quit while you're ahead.'

"Dr. Sweets?" For the life of her, she couldn't have explained why Gordon-Gordon Wyatt looked so delighted. "And why do you suppose he should do such a thing?"

She thought about that one for a moment. "Clearly he has absolutely no real persuasive ability, so he's relying on you to convince me to submit to his pointless testing."

With a smile that said he knew he had won the first battle, Gordon-Gordon lifted his tea and calmly took a sip. "Ah, so in answer to my original question, we have come full circle and established that there are, in fact, multiple individuals aside from Agent Booth who might believably have intervened on your behalf. But do you know what I find particularly interesting?"

"I don't care," she told him honestly, though not overly harshly, but he just smiled and carried right on speaking.

"What is particularly interesting are the motives you ascribe to each person as you believe them to be the guilty party. You assume both Dr. Sweets and Dr. Saroyan to be motivated by purely selfish and professional reasons, rather than any personal concern for your welfare. Agent Booth, on the other hand, immediately becomes the target of your wrath when you believe him to be responsible, as you imply that he has in some way betrayed you. Only Ms. Montenegro escaped unscathed from any unflattering implications. I wonder why that is, Dr. Brennan."

"I still don't care."

"As your employer, if Dr. Saroyan was motivated by purely heartless, professional reasoning, her most logical course of action would be to simply terminate a struggling employee rather than going to such great lengths to retain one. Rationally, you must know that, and yet you still believe her capable of going behind your back, as it were, to seek help for you. To such a traditionally minded gentleman as myself, that sounds much more like the act of a friend than an employer. Wouldn't you agree?"

"And Sweets?" The challenge was still there in her voice, but the look on her face told him that she had never quite considered it that way.

"The same holds true for Dr. Sweets, albeit in a different way. If we are to be absolutely unflinchingly truthful, his professional existence would almost certainly be far less stressful if Booth partnered with someone else, and the good young doctor therefore found himself no longer ultimately responsible for the care and maintenance of the FBI's dynamic duo." His smile softened his words, as did his irrationally soothing accent.

"I don't know what that means," she interrupted, "And Sweets _needs_ to interact with us to compile research for his book, therefore he needs for me to return to work. That's why he keeps insisting I submit to his testing."

Gordon's face was one of amused impatience. "My dear girl, you do insist upon believing the worst of everyone you encounter, don't you? I can assure you that Dr. Sweets has no need for further research. In fact, one session with the two of you could provide enough fodder for an entire _set_ of books. Nor, I might add, was the time he spent with you and Agent Booth - both in the hospital and since your release - mandated by the FBI, nor did he receive financial compensation for it."

"So what is your point?" she asked impatiently.

"My point," he replied, "is that despite the many people who, by your own admission, all seem to be united in their belief that perhaps you should submit to Dr. Sweets' professional services - individuals who, as I have just demonstrated in the face of great opposition, all share a common concern for your wellbeing - I quite agree with your assessment that there is little Dr. Sweets can do for you. It would most certainly be a waste of your time and his."

She hadn't expected _that_ , as her face clearly testified, but she bravely pressed on, only sounding slightly hurt. "Because psychology is a soft science with no basis in real fact, predicated upon subjective opinion and untestable theory?"

The older man smiled patiently and somewhat affectionately at her. "No, my dear girl. Because until you realize that you are, in fact, not only in need of help but _worth_ helping, the process would be an exercise in futility."

She visibly bristled at that. "I am well aware of my worth. My skills are indispensable to both the FBI and the Jeffersonian Institution. Which is why I plan to seek help from a _real_ doctor."

Ignoring her defensive barb, he retained his patience and drove home his point. "Yes, as you should, but you are entirely missing the point. It is not your formidable skills in the field of forensic anthropology which make you indispensable to Agent Booth, or indeed to Dr. Saroyan, Ms. Montenegro, or Dr. Sweets. It is _you_ , Dr. Brennan, personally, for whom they are all concerned."

Leaning forward, he pinned her in his gaze. "My original question to you was not simply a hypothetical one designed to keep you here. What if I were to tell you that, independently of one another and quite without each other's knowledge, each of the aforementioned parties contacted me separately with their concerns and asked me to contact you?" At her surprised look, he chuckled. "Agent Booth was simply the most persistent, although I'm sure that hardly comes as a surprise. But what if I further told you that not one of them mentioned the gaping hole that your inability to function as a forensic anthropologist would leave in their lives?"

He had her attention finally. He knew it. She knew it. The waitress probably even knew it. "I - then what did they say?"

"Each of them individually expressed their deep care for _you_ as a person," he boldly stated. "Each from a different viewpoint, to be sure. Ms. Montenegro is, of course, your personal friend. Dr. Sweets - well, we have discussed his attachment to you and Agent Booth in the past, so I shall leave you to your own rather colorful analogy that compares him to a young aquatic fowl. Dr. Saroyan is unswervingly loyal to Agent Booth, but by extension values you for what she regards as your irreplaceable role in his happiness. And Agent Booth - what to say about Agent Booth? I'm relatively certain you do not need me to explain the reasons for his concern?"

She simply shook her head, her face a mask of deep thought as she stared piercingly at him.

He continued. "You are so quick to deny the personal nature of your difficulties, and the concern of those around you, in favor of focusing only upon the work-related. That is all very well, and in fact quite predictable based upon your system of values, but it leaves me with one question."

She nodded, hanging off his every word now.

"Why, then, are you so determined _not_ to speak with Dr. Sweets that you would in fact prefer to take a leave of absence from the very work that, as we have just established, defines your very existence? For such a rational woman as yourself, it hardly seems to be a logical decision."

"I hate psychology," she offered by way of answer, realizing how thin it sounded. "I always have."

"Ah, so you base this possibly life-altering decision solely upon a long-held opinion? You are a scientist, Dr. Brennan - an observer. In the time you have worked with Agent Booth, you have seen him employ his own peculiar brand of psychology to elicit confessions from multiple suspects, have you not? You have, in fact, even requested that Dr. Sweets teach you the techniques required to emulate that behavior. Do you mean to tell me, then, that this long-held opinion of yours has not been modified in any way by all of the information you have observed and catalogued?"

"It's not just my opinion," she defended. "It's an _objective_ opinion based on the utter _subjectiveness_ of psychology. Nothing about psychology is absolute."

"And yet you fear it. Why is that?"

"I don't fear it," she threw back, regaining a bit of bravado, smirking at him in the way a child on the playground might do when engaged in a childish 'yes it is/no it isn't' type of argument. "I hate it."

Narrowing his eyes, he looked at her closely. "'The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind."'

"William Blake," she answered immediately. "And you're wrong. I've already visited Dr. Sweets. I followed his instructions to the letter, and nothing changed."

Her triumphant tone did little to rattle Gordon-Gordon. "Oh? And what were those instructions?"

"To talk about it, which I did, with him. To write down my thoughts, and the contents of my flashbacks and nightmares."

"I see. Excellent advice. And how long have you been doing this?"

"The day that I talked to him."

He leaned even a little more forward. "Surely you mean _since_ the day you talked to him?"

She squirmed a little in her seat. "No. I wrote down my thoughts and flashbacks that occurred the day I talked to him."

Even the unflappable man before her looked shocked by that. "Dear God...one whole day?" His British accent made even that statement sound like one of great importance.

She thought about it, wanting to be honest. "Well...almost one whole day."

It took him a few sips of tea as he studied her before he finally spoke, still barely able to believe his ears. "Tell me something, Dr. Brennan. I'm quite curious. The skeleton that you examined...was it a male or female cadaver?"

Her brow furrowed. "Which one?"

"The one you examined as a forensic anthropology student," he asked, managing to sound a little impatient, "in the forensic anthropology class that made you what you are today. Was it a male or a female?"

She looked scandalized, as though he had suggested that she was of very low intelligence and she intended to set him straight immediately. "The requirements for my _multiple_ degrees involved many different classes, at a postgraduate and doctoral level, in which I studied multiple sets of remains from every gender, race, time period, geographical area and any of hundreds of other variables."

His knowing smile was firmly back in place, even as he feigned shock, knowing quite well that she would take him literally. "So you didn't become a forensic anthropologist in one day of grad school, or an expert after handling one set of remains?"

"Of course not," she scoffed. "Ludicrous."

"And yet by your own definition, forensic anthropology is a very objective, hard science, defined by firm, clear rules."

"Yes," she confirmed enthusiastically.

"But despite its objective, clearly outlined nature, it took years of study to achieve the level of mastery you have attained; and yet you expect a soft science such as psychology to plumb the murky depths of the quite subjective human mind and effect a clear change in less than 24 hours? Fascinating. For someone who claims to hold such a low opinion of psychology, Dr. Brennan, I believe you actually give far more credit to my field than you do to your own. Or perhaps, if I might be so bold, there is a flaw in your logic?"

She sat staring him down for long moments before slowly nodding. In a halting manner, she finally spoke. "I believe...that it may be possible...that there is some truth in your analogy."

Tipping his head graciously, Gordon-Gordon motioned to the patient waitress to come and take their lunch orders. "I am delighted to hear it, Dr. Brennan. Now if you would be so kind, I should be honored to have you share a plate of woefully unhealthy potatoes with me while we examine precisely what needs to take place in order to restore you to your quite remarkably efficient self. Perhaps you might begin by providing me with a narrative in your own words regarding your ordeal and the events that have led you and Agent Booth to this point?"

… ooo … ooo …

Booth hadn't been lying when he told her by text that he was on his way to a crime scene. In fact, he had never actually lied to her at all - had taken great pains never to specifically say he'd be at lunch at all - but that still didn't stop him from feeling guilty about having misled her. It also didn't stop him from being miserable about working a scene without his partner.

The body, all things considered, was fleshier than she really would have cared to deal with anyway. But it was just the principle of the matter. He _wanted_ her there, she wanted to _be_ there - or at least he hoped she still did - but she just wasn't allowed to be. It only made him want her there even more. And although she would have been the first to point out that there was no possible connection whatsoever, it made his back hurt even worse. And he didn't care what her opinion of that would be. It just _did._

Cam had stepped in smoothly, along with Fisher - who, of course, was not exactly a ray of sunshine in Booth's increasingly dark day. It was probably one of the more depressing crime scenes Booth had ever worked, which remarkably had little to do with the actual murder. By the time Fisher was done expounding upon the inevitability of them all ending up like that mutilated corpse, Booth wanted to pull out his gun - he just wasn't sure whether he was more tempted to commit homicide or self-inflicted bodily injury.

Much, much later that afternoon, he was struggling with another difficult decision: whether he was _glad_ he had a reason to stop in at the Jeffersonian to confer with Cam and get an update from the unbelievably depressing Fisher, or whether he was scared to death of running into his partner-slash-something-in-between girlfriend.

There was only one thing he was really sure of: he was suddenly even more glad that he had denied all of Brennan's weapons requests. Neither daisies nor daffodils were going to be able to help him when she got a crack at him if she had figured out he was responsible for Gordon-Gordon. And since he had been calling her cell phone almost every 30 minutes since 12:30 with absolutely no response - a total of 9 ignored calls - he was pretty sure she had. Forget daisies and daffodils: even pulling down Jupiter from the sky and giving it to her wasn't likely to be of any assistance this time. Maybe he could find a pet store that sold adorable pigs...or puppies with warm and reassuring brown eyes...or both. And did it make him a bad person to visualize holding some cute little pig in front of him like a shield when he ran into her?

She was, of course, the very first person he saw, effectively stopping his nervousness-driven internal ramblings. It would have been way too easy for her to be safely ensconced in her office poring over paperwork. Instead, she was en route back to her office from somewhere near the entrance to the parking deck, as he discovered almost immediately when he came through the door and found himself walking along behind her. As he followed her, his first thought was to be a little perturbed that she never even turned around to see exactly who was behind her. _Anybody_ could have been back there.

His second thought was that she wasn't aware of his presence yet, so he could just duck into a doorway, let her go, and avoid her wrath until later...

But then who was he kidding? It wasn't like he couldn't have just _called_ Cam and Fisher, or even contacted them by video link. There was only one _real_ reason he was there. Time to man up and face the music.

"Hey, Bones," he called after her, managing to sound incredibly normal for a guy who wasn't sure he wasn't about to be on the receiving end of a karate chop to the throat. "There you are. I've been trying to call you."

Why did that statement seem to be a continuing theme already in their relationship? In a show of total bravado, a minor stab of annoyance tried to stab through to see the light of day - _after all, was it so hard to just answer the damn phone and converse like an adult?_ \- before he regained his sanity and that flash of bravado ducked its head and ran for cover.

She stopped and turned, and for once he could read _nothing_ from her expression. He stopped several steps from her, his hands going awkwardly into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"I'm at work, Booth." Annoyance. At least there was an emotion he recognized. "You don't have to come here every time I don't answer my phone."

He cringed inwardly at those words, as his mind formed a pretty clear mental image of himself trapped between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

No matter how rational she prided herself on being, Bones was still a woman - which meant that no matter how annoyed she was about him being there to see _her_ , she wasn't really gonna like it when he told her he _wasn't_ either.

"I'm actually here to see Cam and Fisher about the case," he told her as gently as he could, knowing that under the circumstances it was going to be a double blow.

Predictably, her spine stiffened. "Oh."

She looked very unsure of what to say next, in a way that he would have thought was absolutely adorable if not for how worried he was about her pulling away from him.

As usual, he made a move to save her. "But yeah, Bones, I'm here to see you too. I needed to know we were all right. You know...after lunch." And he was letting her draw her own conclusions about that one, of whether he was referring to his own absence or Gordon-Gordon's presence.

After standing awkwardly for another moment and still not deciding what to say, she finally turned and started briskly back down the hall, in the direction of both the platform and her office beyond.

He was a little surprised she hadn't immediately lit into him about setting her up, but no way was he letting her distance herself from him either. Booth closed the gap and caught up with her in two strides, his long legs easily falling into step beside her in total defiance of his aching back.

Okay, so bringing up lunch hadn't gone over so well. Time for a topic change. "Y'know, Bones, it's only fieldwork Cullen has the authority to suspend you from. You can still work the case with me from here at the lab."

He already knew Cam had made her that same offer, and had even tried to draw her into the examination of the remains - an offer which had been flatly refused in favor of continuing to scour every file in her office for mistakes, just as she had done all morning before leaving for her lunch with Dr. Wyatt. He even knew about the total bullshit speech she had given about the Jeffersonian being a teaching institution and allowing Mr. Fisher the opportunity to learn by working independently.

He knew all of this for one reason and one reason only: when Bones had failed to answer her phone the first three times, he had finally given up on trying to quell his overprotective tendencies and had just called Cam to make sure she was at least back in the office and she was okay. Okay, and maybe he had asked Cam a question or 20 about what was going on while he was at it. And maybe he had asked her to temporarily lose or shelve any potential leave of absence requests she might be receiving that day until he could get Bones alone to talk about what had happened with Gordon.

He knew exactly what her reaction would be to _all_ of that, but truthfully he was beginning not to care. If she didn't like it, then she could just start answering her phone and talking to him herself. He was really trying to take the edge off his Alpha-male behavior to keep from smothering her, but he had his limits.

Her tone when she answered his thinly veiled plea was one of utter professionalism. "Mr. Fisher is perfectly capable. You can trust his conclusions."

The implication was clear from her tone of voice: he could trust _his_ conclusions; as in, to the exclusion of hers. And that was more than he could let go.

Gently, Booth put out an arm and stopped her, smoothly stepping in front of her to face her as his hand lingered at her elbow. "I know I can trust him, Bones. You trained him. But that's not what this is about. It's about the fact that I trust you _more_."

For just a moment, she softened and he relaxed. But then for some reason completely unfathomable to him, anger flashed through suddenly bright blue eyes as she easily and somewhat self-consciously pulled her arm from his light grasp, her eyes flicking around to be sure no one was watching them.

"That is not logical, considering the circumstances. If this is going to work, Booth, you can't allow our personal relationship to influence your professional decisions. You can't bring our personal relationship _here_ , to the Jeffersonian. If you do, we are going to be unable to function properly as partners and our partnership will end."

He couldn't help it. Every _single_ time she made any type of allusion to not working with him anymore, total panic washed over him and made him say things he shouldn't in tones that he really needed to avoid. It also didn't help matters that the very sight of her flaring up in passionate anger inevitably stoked his own passion, beginning to drastically change the already highly charged atmosphere between them. There was still no question in his mind that she was _the_ one for him, but he was finding out the hard way that his hardcore Alpha-male protectiveness combined with her hardcore feminine independent streak was every bit as explosive of a combination as he had always hoped...um, feared it would be.

Helplessly taking a step closer, he went almost nose to nose with her without touching her, his voice low and angry. But even through that anger - and in some ways because of it - he could feel the electricity crackling between them, heightened just by her having brought up the topic of them as a couple. And there was no question, judging by her sudden increase in breathing, that she felt it too.

"This has nothing to do with our _personal relationship_. I just want my _partner_ to work the case with me. I _need_ my partner to work the case with me. And for the record, just how the hell do you think we're going to be able to 'function properly as partners' anyway if you insist on backing completely away from the work? _Stop. Running. Bones."_

The lightning flashing in her eyes was almost enough to singe him as they stood smoldering at one another, neither of them able to deny the effect each was having on the other. Had he not been standing in the middle of the damn Jeffersonian beginning to attract the attention of curious onlookers, he'd have probably given in to his baser instincts, grabbed her, and just let their tongues and bodies continue the battle nonverbally in a much more satisfying way that might even ease some of the nearly unbearable sexual tension that had been growing between them for days.

One look at her was enough to tell him that the thought had crossed her mind as well. She looked almost like she wanted to _pounce_ on him and go just a half-step shy of _hurting_ him - which really shouldn't turn a good Catholic guy on even more, but what was another embarrassing trip to the confessional at this point anyway? It wasn't all that different from law enforcement: the threat of punishment has to outweigh the pleasure derived from the crime. And the idea of her taking out her passion on him by biting down on his lip with just barely enough tenderness to keep from actually drawing blood as he kissed her hard? The dread of confessing to his priest that he was obviously some kind of perv wasn't even in the same universe as the thrill he got from the mere thought of her doing _exactly_ that.

Amazingly, she was first to back down and step away - which was a damn good thing, because at that point he'd have sold his soul before _he'd_ have done it. She could call him a prude all she wanted: if she had stayed in his personal space looking at him like that for about two more seconds, some of the Jeffersonian staff would have had something to talk about that night.

"This has turned into a personal discussion," she told him, and he gave her points for sounding only a _little_ breathless. "I would prefer it if we keep our personal relationship separate from the workplace. We'll continue this tonight at your apartment."

He almost snorted. _There_ was the understatement of the freaking century. Because they were 'continuing this tonight' whether she came to his apartment or not, no matter what he had to do to find her. But for the present, it was time to back down in return and respect her agonizingly logical boundaries. Because whether he liked it or not, she was right about one thing: to keep being partners, they _were_ going to have to be professional at work.

"Fine." Blowing out a long sigh, he turned the conversation back to the - mostly - work related. "So are you going to help me with the case or not?"

She faltered, dropping her gaze away slightly, and that small sign of uncertainty and insecurity was enough to melt his anger. "Not today. I think we should talk first."

She didn't have to point out to him just how blurred the lines were unintentionally becoming: that her purely professional decision ironically relied very heavily on the outcome of their purely personal discussion. It wasn't what she wanted and he knew it. It wasn't really what he wanted either, but it was going to take some time to get the lines drawn and set in their proper places. In the meantime, he couldn't let her doubt herself _or_ them.

"You're capable, Bones. You _are._ And whatever you decide, I'd feel better - professionally speaking - to have your input on the case. And the rest of it...we'll get this figured out, okay?"

He might have known she'd just ignore what she didn't want to hear or didn't feel comfortable responding to, but her complete 180-degree-turn reaction still wasn't exactly what he expected.

"After you meet with Cam and Mr. Fisher, Booth, you should go home. You shouldn't even be working today."

"What?" he asked, a little baffled by her sudden change of topic.

"You can barely stand upright. You should have allowed me to fix your back this morning."

"Bones...how the hell did you know?" he asked, trying not to pout or feel insulted by the perceived attack on his virility. Looking weak in front of her wasn't really something he relished. "I didn't say a word."

"It's obvious from both your posture and your gait that you're in pain," she retorted, beginning to walk again and leaving him to catch up.

"You could fix it for me now," he adapted quickly, painfully catching up and turning a set of puppy-dog eyes on her that no woman yet had ever resisted.

"You should have asked earlier," she replied, unmoved. "I have to go. I have a meeting in 20 minutes with my publisher to discuss the changes in the chapters I turned in this morning. It appears that they were quite well received."

 _Yeah,_ he thought, remembering almost painfully what at least one of those chapters was about. _I'm sure they were._ So her publisher had already read it. Why did that make him feel...naked? No way was he ever looking her publisher in the eye again.

"We'll address everything tonight, Booth" she tossed somewhat harshly over her shoulder as they parted ways at the platform, completely oblivious of the harried man she left in her wake and the _very_ interested and amused reactions to that statement from Cam, Angela, and all the other current inhabitants of the platform.

"So, Booth..." Angela teased flirtatiously, tearing his attention away from the distracting sight of his departing partner. "Exactly _what_ are you two 'addressing' tonight?"

He was more focused on the sudden and gut-clenching thought that Bones had already been so angry with him and Gordon-Gordon hadn't even been _brought up_ yet. If he didn't know better, he'd think maybe she had actually bought his lame attempt at a cover and hadn't put two and two together. That would be great except for the fact that he had no choice but to tell her. If she was this mad about him missing lunch, she was going to go through the roof about Gordon.

Somehow, he managed not to gulp at Angela's question. There were only two possible answers to it anyway: Bones was either going to kill him or...or she was going to kill him. The goddess of compartmentalization right to the bitter end, she probably just preferred to do so on their own personal time. No need in wasting taxpayer dollars to do it on government time, after all. All that time she'd have to spend disposing of his body and all...

His verbal answer, when it came, was equally honest, although why Angela and Cam seemed so amused he couldn't have explained.

"I don't have a damn clue."

… ooo … ooo …

It was 9:30 that night before his damn phone finally rang. At least 5 more calls to her had gone completely unanswered, much to his frustration, and he was on the very brink of going to find her _again._

He actually wanted to throw the phone across the room when he saw that it _still_ wasn't her. But just hearing the unexpected voice of Jack Hodgins on the other end of the line as he unnecessarily identified himself set Booth's skin crawling with concern that something had happened at the lab. It certainly wasn't as though Hodgins often called him.

"Yeah, I know who it is. What's wrong?" he asked tersely, every sense on alert.

"What?" Hodgins asked, thrown off track for a moment before perceptively understanding exactly what Booth was asking. "Oh. Nothing like that. She's fine, or at least she was when I last saw her a couple hours ago. I'm still here at the lab working on time of death, and Ange is trying to get you a face. Hey, Booth, listen - I appreciate what you did, but when I told you I didn't expect to be paid back I meant it."

It was Booth's turn to be thrown off track. "What? What are you talking about?"

"I just want to know how the hell you did it? How did you even get my account number? All of my accounts are safeguarded to the highest degree of security, and supposedly almost untraceable."

At least the trip to Albania had taught Booth one thing: how to avoid miscommunication. "Hodgins, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The entire amount I gave you, right down to the penny, was wired back into my account two days after you got back. I just found out about it today. You've been holding out on us, man. So what is it, a rich uncle? Or are you actually a CIA operative with ties to..."

"Maybe I am." Booth cut him off, having a pretty damn good idea of exactly what had happened - not that it really made him feel any better or less indebted. Naji. He always had been a down-to-the-last-detail kind of guy, and who the hell else could trace records to figure out exactly how much Hodgins had given him and then have it wired into an unfindable account?

For a few days after Albania, Booth had been ready to kill Naji for abandoning him and cutting off all means of contact until he realized why he did it. Since then, he had just been wishing he could get hold of him to say thank you for doing it - because if he hadn't, he might have run as far from Bones as he could get and _not_ now have a 'something-in-between' girlfriend on the way to his place that night, angry or not. And apparently, his friend hadn't been quite finished.

Silence met Booth for just a moment after his response - a response that had been partially meant to mess with Hodgins, and partially meant to protect Naji's anonymity upon which his life depended.

He could almost feel the paranoia through the phone lines. "Dude, are you serious?" After getting no reply, Hodgins tried again. "You're never going to tell me, are you?"

"Not unless you want me to have to kill you. Hey, so Bones is still there at the lab?"

The entomologist chuckled. "As far as I know, yes, luckily for you. You've got balls of steel, man."

 _Uh-oh..._

"Making her think you were meeting her for lunch and then having a _psychologist_ there?" Hodgins made a sound that expressed his uncertainty of Booth's sanity. "If you are CIA, you suck at it. I'm gonna miss you, man. I really am."

"How do you..."

"Angela. How else? Hang on...what's that? Oh, Angela said to tell you she'll miss you too. And that she just talked to Brennan 30 minutes ago and she's on her way to your place. Good luck, man. Hey, maybe there'll be more crying ex-girlfriends at your funeral this time."

"Yeah, that's great, Hodgins. Thanks a lot."

A sharp rap at his door had him flipping the phone shut without a goodbye.

Heart pounding and mind racing, he made his way to his door, no longer wondering whether or not she knew what he had done. Now he was just wondering if she was going to break up with him and then kill him, or just kill him first and _then_ break up with him. And the fact that Angela not only knew about what had happened but had probably helped plan his execution was _not. good._

He opened the door to find the one woman he loved enough to keep doing things that could make him lose her. She stood there glaring at him, in a little-shorter-and-tighter-than-normal black skirt that could at least distract him while she killed him, holding a huge duffel bag he hadn't seen before. The skirt ended just a couple inches above her knee, leaving just a couple inches visible above the top of her knee-length black boots. Her hair was again up in a ponytail, though a tighter one this time, and the skirt was paired with a clingy black top he had also never seen before that enhanced the pale creaminess of her skin along the deep V of the neckline. Jeez, all black. And sexy as hell. The only thing that marred that perfect picture was the soft cast on her still injured hand, which only served to remind him of all the reasons he couldn't just yank her inside the door and _touch._

"Bones..." he greeted with trepidation, eyes flicking from her carefully expressionless face down to the huge bag she held. "You moving in?" It wasn't his best joke, but then he wasn't exactly at his best.

He thought he might detect just a faint glint of humor in her eyes, but since there was absolutely no trace of a smile on her mouth he decided it was probably not so much humor as the anticipation she felt for the tongue-lashing she was certain to have in mind.

Without preamble, she pushed past him and stormed into his apartment, dropping the bag to the ground just a couple steps inside his door with a _thud_ that almost made him jump. That done, she turned to cross her arms and look at him in a way that reminded him of being a little kid sitting outside the principal's office, similarly waiting to be destroyed.

"Look, Bones, I know you're probably pretty pissed at me, but I..."

One hand held out in the classic 'stop' gesture was all it took to close his mouth.

"Take your shirt off, Booth. Right now."

 **…** **ooo … ooo …**

Angela Montenegro really loved her job sometimes - the forensic artist part, as well as the best friend part. Because every once in a while, an utterly irresistible opportunity to work her particular brand of magic presented itself.

So as she stood on the platform conferring with Cam, Hodgins and Fisher about the latest case Booth had brought them, which would have her in the lab until 11:00 that night instead of out doing something fun (like, say, having sex), it wouldn't have taken very much to catch her eye.

Taking that into consideration, it was little wonder that the sight of her very determined-looking best friend speeding in her direction - while being anxiously trailed by 6 feet of blatantly nervous but utterly delectable sex-on-a-stick wrapped in a snug-fitting leather shoulder holster - sent her antennae sky high.

"We'll address everything tonight, Booth." Brennan's not-so-subtle dismissal and the way Booth reluctantly watched her walk away - like he was just a little afraid she wasn't coming back and maybe even more afraid that she _was_ \- only confirmed the suspicion Angela had conjured up the moment she saw them together.

Something was going on.

Again.

Something big. And she didn't just mean the slight tent in the front of Booth's pants that said her friend had just been busy getting under Booth's skin in more ways than one.

And thanks to the memory of him summarily dismissing her and Hodgins from a discussion about _her best friend_ the day before, Angela wasn't feeling particularly merciful toward her favorite piece of eye candy.

She did a double take, however, at the look on his face, and at the obvious way that his back was just killing him. And she'd be willing to bet that he'd injured that back again in an attempt to do something for her best friend, and probably something self-sacrificing and just ridiculously amazing, at that. Okay, so she wasn't feeling particularly merciful, but she wasn't cruel either.

After somehow resisting the urge to teasingly ask the poor guy whether Brennan had said 'address' or 'undress', she gave him the tamed down version of her question about exactly _what_ they would be addressing and watched in fascination as he actually _gulped_. Jeez, and that was only the tame version. Sneaking a glance at the amused expression on Cam's face beside her that she knew mirrored her own, she could only smirk at his answer.

"I don't have a damn clue."

Well maybe _he_ didn't. But that didn't mean that _she_ had to stay in the dark. He was barely off the platform after distractedly getting an update from Cam and Fisher, before Angela was off the platform like a shot herself and headed for her best friend's office.

… ooo … ooo …

"All right, Brennan. Spill it."

Almost wearily, Bones looked up from her desk. "I beg your pardon?"

"What'd Booth do now?"

Sighing, Brennan turned her focus back to her desk. "As I just informed Agent Booth, while at work I would like to focus on work. I do not wish to discuss the details of my personal life in the office."

It was going to take a lot more than that to intimidate Angela Montenegro, who only rolled her eyes. "Right. Because I'm so likely to let you get away with that. Spill it, Bren. I don't have time for strong-arming you."

To most people, the glare she received in return might have been intimidating. Angela knew better, because she knew her friend. Somewhere in there, Brennan _wanted_ to talk about it, but just needed a little shove. Somewhere down deep, she wanted the opinion of someone a little more relationship savvy. Although for the life of her, Angela wasn't sure after the last year how anyone could even _begin_ to still consider her an expert on relationships...

But even if her own most recent track record with men was barely a step better than shameful, she still knew her best friend well - well enough to clearly see it in her face as at least five different reasons for _not_ talking to her about it were mentally considered and dismissed in light of the irrefutable fact that Angela wasn't leaving until she got what she wanted.

So, Angela smirked to herself, it was probably for the very logical sake of practicality that Brennan gave in...probably something about using her time most efficiently.

With an almost pouty expression and a voice that spoke volumes about the fact that she wasn't sure how she felt or even should feel about it, Brennan began:

"Booth tricked me."

Almost as an afterthought, she threw in something else; something that - considering her still increased heart rate and now uncomfortably damp panties just from standing nose to nose and arguing with the infuriating man who clearly wanted to just take her against the nearest wall but refused to even kiss her - was also high on her list of concerns and currently made her irrationally angry.

"And he still refuses to initiate sexual contact with me."

It was at that exact moment that Angela spun around, intercepted the very morose-looking Fisher who was trying to enter Brennan's office with a question, shoved him out, and closed and locked the door.

Yes, her services were definitely needed here. The dead guy wasn't going anywhere, so the morbid death- _obsessed_ guy could just wait his turn.

… ooo … ooo …

Once Brennan finally started talking with her friend, it was like the dam broke. Talking earlier with Gordon-Gordon had been easier than she might have imagined once she relented, started at the beginning, and just began to lay out all the facts. Absolutely nothing in the man's expression or reactions had been judgmental, and if anything he had been able to offer her some quite solid, logical, practical advice and insights. Not that that had anything to do with psychology. But she could appreciate logic from anyone, even a so-called expert in a pointless field which didn't deserve to be called science.

As Brennan told her about what had transpired earlier that day, Angela was a little surprised - though in retrospect, she shouldn't have been - that Booth had finally taken hard action to get Brennan some help. Part of her wanted to find the 6 foot tall agent, hug him, and plant one on him. Yeah, so she was supposed to be on Brennan's side here. She _was_. And that's why she appreciated what Booth had done. Having tried to talk her friend into getting help herself, she could actually sympathize with Booth's decision. He wasn't the type to sit around on his hands and wait - he was a man of action, especially where Brennan's safety and well-being were concerned, and so he had taken action.

Angela heartily approved, but she didn't intend to say so.

She also kept her mouth shut about the fact that she had called Mr. Gordon-Gordon Monty-Python Wyatt herself after that horrible weekend at Brennan's apartment after she had broken her hand at the club, and had practically ordered him to fix her friend. What Brennan didn't know couldn't hurt her. After all, it was much more likely that it was Booth's 'request' that had brought the man to the diner earlier that day anyway. Spitting with deadly accuracy was pretty much the limit of Angela's violent tendencies. Booth had probably threatened to snipe him. It wasn't like it was actually _her_ fault, so why should she confess?

As they talked, Brennan obviously tried to keep the focus of their conversation on what had happened earlier that day at the diner; but it was almost laughable how often the topic of the conversation turned back to Booth's reluctance to sex her up. What was even more ironic was that Angela was not the one who steered it there even one time.

Finally, Angela decided to just drop pretense. "Okay, Sweetie. Let's just skip the whole Monty Python thing for a minute and get to the _real_ point here."

Brennan looked a little confused. "Who?" Realization dawned then, tinged with just a hint of envy. "Oh. Mr. Fisher's already made an identification of the victim?"

Angela shook her head, unable to fully hide her smile. At least some things never changed. "No, sweetie. No. Monty Python isn't the victim. That's what I call Gordon-Gordon."

Brennan looked completely stumped. "Why? That makes no sense at all, Angela. That's not his name."

"Oh come on, Brennan. You're kidding me right? You don't know who Monty Python is?"

The confusion hadn't gone anywhere. "Well...you just said that it was Gordon-Gordon. So, yes. I think. Right?"

Closing her eyes for just a moment, Angela disembarked the merry-go-round. "Okay. You know what? Nevermind. Sex. With Booth. Let's talk about that."

Sexual frustration mingled with irritation at Booth's deception made Brennan equally blunt. "It appears there's very little to discuss."

Somehow, Angela managed _not_ to point out the fact that not too far in the recent past, Brennan had been tearfully telling her how she couldn't have a relationship with Booth because _he_ would expect sex and she didn't think she could handle it after what happened, and now she was mad at him for taking it too slow. Leave it to the two of them to meet in the middle and then both keep going until they ended up directly opposite each other on the _other_ end of the spectrum.

Although defending Booth really hadn't been her intention when she entered the room, it was quickly ending up that way. "But you do know why, right Sweetie?"

Of course she did, but Brennan was feeling testy about being tricked, and snappy, and unfulfilled, and just generally out of her element. Which, of course, caused her to sound superior and intolerant. "Of course. Booth is unnecessarily overcompensating for what happened in Albania."

A little sternly, Angela slapped her hands down on the desk and leaned over toward Brennan to emphasize her point. "Wrong. Booth doesn't 'unnecessarily' do anything. Booth _loves_ you, and he's trying to protect _both_ of you. Bren, I'm on your side here, but you didn't see Booth's face in that hospital when he told me what he had to do to you to get you out of there. I'll never forget that face as long as I live. Hurting you like that? Scaring you? It almost killed him, sweetie. I've never seen a man look so haunted. And sometimes when he's looking at you and you don't see him? Sometimes he still looks like that. I think it's even harder for him to accept what happened than it is for you, Brennan. And that makes sense to me, because he's the one that feels responsible."

It just wasn't in her nature not to argue, even when she suspected she might be wrong. "But Angela, I _know_ why Booth did what he did, and I've told him that. I've told him he can kiss me." With a shrug, she came to her conclusion in a decisive tone that was classic, oblivious Brennan. "I've been extremely patient."

Angela knew better than anyone that Brennan's definition of patience and the rest of the world's were probably not exactly identical, to say the least. So she took that last sentence with a grain of salt and restrained her urge to roll her eyes. Patience and Brennan didn't even belong in the same sentence.

"Yeah. I understand that, sweetie. But you've got to look at this from Booth's point of view. He's the one who hurt _you_. He's the reason you keep having these nightmares and flashbacks, or at least part of the reason, and he knows that. If he takes a chance, even with your blessing, and you have a flashback or freak out on him again, I'm not sure he could recover from that. Just cut him some slack, Brennan. _Be_ patient - truly patient. The man was willing to wait for as long as you need. Maybe you should be willing to do the same for him."

The light bulb had clearly gone on, her head nodding slowly. "For how long?"

While she counseled cutting Booth some slack, Angela wasn't cutting Brennan any. "For a man like that? As long as it takes. It's worth it. I mean, God...look at him. It's _going_ to be worth it. And I get it, Bren. I understand your side too, okay? Booth's hotter than homemade hot fudge, and twice as sweet. He's being careful and overly self-controlled with you, and that just makes him hotter because all you want is to push his limits, get naked with him and make him lose all that careful control - and make him lose it on _you_. You want to see if you can do that to him. And God, who wouldn't want to be able to do that? But next time you decide to try to push him past his limits, just try to remember the reason for that control. Are you absolutely certain that you're ready for intercourse with Booth, I mean right now this very minute, and everything that goes with it?"

"Everything that goes with it?"

She hadn't heard the whole story for nothing. And she wasn't going to let Brennan pretend to be obtuse. "Fine. Specifics. Are you ready for his mouth on your neck and him on top of you in that bed?"

Not the easiest question to ask, but tough love was sort of her specialty. And Brennan's tiny moment of hesitation was answer enough, causing Angela's lips to press together into a thin line, her face serious.

"Because if you're not completely certain, Bren, you need to let Booth do this his way. _Let_ him take care of you. It's not every day that a guy comes along who _wants_ to do that."

And then Brennan made the most excellent point Angela had heard yet.

"I concede your point, Angela, but I find Booth's way to be very confusing. He said himself that this would be a gradual process, and I accepted that reasoning. He said it would be 'trial and error' and that we would have to work through my responses. But then he told me that we're something-in-between right now and he's not going to kiss me until we can truly be more. I fail to see how we can work through my responses when he will barely touch me to begin the trial and error portion. I find his reasoning to be circular.'

"Hm." Angela stood back up straight and crossed her arms. "Okay. Have you told him this?"

Brennan frowned, remembering their dinner in her apartment, that kiss against the refrigerator, and Booth's very rapid subject change.

"I attempted to bring up the topic when he prevented me from removing his clothes after I kissed him against the refrigerator, but he suggested that we should stop conversing at that moment and eat pizza instead."

Angela bit her lip to hide a smile. Good thing she spoke Brennanese, or she'd have been lost. "Wow. Okay, Sweetie. So after Booth recovered and ate pizza, did you ever try to bring it up again?"

Her eyes turned skyward, her mouth twisted in thought as she remembered. "No. I intended to, but after we discussed the sex scene in my latest novel, Booth went to take a shower. I had to work, so I never got the chance to discuss it with him again." Again, she frowned. "And actually, Booth ate very little pizza, although he had stated that he was ravenous."

Yeah, Angela could just bet he hadn't choked down much pizza. God, how she would have loved to be a fly on the wall for _that_ evening.

"Hm. Well in that case, sweetie, since it sounds like Booth is reluctant to discuss it, maybe you need to show him."

"But you just said..."

"I said it might be too soon for sex. I never said you couldn't show him you're ready to start moving things forward physically in other ways. You're right, Bren. There's a difference. If Booth is dragging his feet on starting 'trial and error', he may just need a clear go-ahead from you - like a _crystal_ clear one. So give it to him."

"How?" The wheels were obviously still turning, so Angela waited silently until Brennan's face revealed that she had come to a conclusion. "I had a dream that I went to his apartment wearing only a G-string and heels under my coat. Perhaps I should try that."

Again, Angela's lips twitched. She ought to just tell Bren to go for it and do that. Immediately. She really should. It would serve Booth right for the way he had talked to her and Hodgins yesterday. But sitting at the hospital waiting for Booth to wake up from his damn brain tumor, and watching Brennan's face during the long hours he didn't, had been torturous enough; no sense putting him right back in a hospital bed with a heart attack.

"Yeah, sweetie, you _could_. But I was thinking something a little more...subtle."

But Brennan wasn't quite ready to let go of her little fantasy. "But Booth _is_ curious what my dream was about, especially since I wouldn't allow him to read my manuscript."

Okay, that one _did_ need interpreting. "Whoa...back up. Booth _knows_ you had some kind of sexy dream about him, and - am I hearing you right here, Bren? - you wrote it out in your _book_? And Booth _knows_ that, but you won't let him read it?"

Brennan had the audacity to look a little impatient. "Yes," she confirmed, as though she couldn't understand why this should be such a big deal.

Angela's grin had grown ear to ear. Oh, this was too good to be true.

"Let me guess...that's the sex scene you were talking about right before Booth had the sudden urgent need for a shower."

Pink cheeks confirmed it, and also confirmed that Brennan wasn't quite as innocent or dense as she wanted Angela to believe.

And Booth...

What the hell was _he_ thinking at this point? Okay, careful was one thing. A good thing. But from the way it sounded, he was definitely missing the forest for the trees. What did Bren have to do? Hold up a neon sign?

Forget all her kind words about him a few minutes before. Forget that heart attack she was afraid of giving him.

A heart attack was about to be the least of Booth's troubles.

"So, sweetie," Angela started, bringing the conversation back full circle. "Booth tricked you, right?"

The sudden seeming change of topic brought Brennan up short. "Yes, about Gordon. But I thought we were talking about sex. With Booth."

"We are. Have you ever heard the phrase 'turnabout's fair play'?"

… ooo … ooo …

Later that evening, Angela watched Brennan leave the Jeffersonian for Booth's place, thankful for the first time all day that Brennan wasn't attached to the current case they were working on. Maybe Angela had to stay all night, but at least Bren could go have some fun.

Every time a stab of guilt tapped her on the shoulder about the way she had encouraged Bren to mess with Booth, she whirled right around and presented it with an image of Booth _ordering_ her and Hodgins away from his conversation with Cam and Sweets. And then she didn't feel so bad.

And it wasn't like Booth wasn't going to thank her later.

Maybe.

But in the meantime, she had to share a plan this good. Where the hell was Hodgins? He needed a break from slime and bugs. Didn't everybody?

… ooo … ooo …

"You're evil."

Had Brennan been there, she might have pointed out that Hodgins' words indicated _bad_ , while his tone indicated _utter_ approval.

Angela only grinned in response. "I know I am. And you love it."

Jack chuckled. "You've got that right. You know, I need to talk to Booth anyway, so I've got a good excuse to get him on the phone. Wanna help make it worse?"

Of course that was too good of an offer to turn down. As she watched Hodgins dial his phone and waited for her cue, Angela thought with great amusement about the final part of her conversation with Brennan - which she had _greatly_ enjoyed relaying to Hodgins...

… ooo … ooo …

"What _exactly_ did you tell Booth about your dream and what you wrote in your book?"

Brennan had shrugged. "Only that I took the characters' physical relationship in a slightly different direction, but that I thought my publisher would be pleased."

Angela had slumped down into one of the chairs, but suddenly sat up a little straighter as a delicious idea took hold of her.

Booth would absolutely _die_...

"You used those exact words...took the physical relationship in a _different direction_?"

"Yes, verbatim."

Angela tapped her chin. "Y'know, Bren, I saw Booth's face today. He's about nine parts scared and one part hoping you want to hurt him for this thing with Gordon-Gordon."

Brennan shook her head. "That's ludicrous. Booth's perfectly capable of defending himself, Ange. Believe me."

Angela sighed. "Oh, Sweetie. I'm gonna let that one go. My point is that he's on edge, and maybe you could use that. You know, let him sweat it out a little. Let him think you might actually be planning to, you know, attack him. But in a way that'll really get his attention - make him glad that all you want is a little necking. Kill two birds with one stone."

A slow nod, and then, "You're suggesting that I lead Booth to believe I intend to engage in what he would consider to be deviant sexual behavior in an attempt to punish him for tricking me? Perhaps brandish a whip?"

Angela almost choked on her own saliva. Apparently Bren could still shock her sometimes.

"Well I wasn't going to suggest anything quite _that_ severe," she managed. "I was thinking more along the lines of getting a little rough with him...make him wonder if you're about to jump him or kick his ass. You guys just have this _thing_ when you argue….it's hot. And I know you know what I mean. I just meant to let that take its natural course. It's been coming for years."

"But I do own a pair of leather pants that I purchased in college."

Good God, what had she started?

"Mmm. Don't we all, sweetie. Don't we all. But remember what I said a few minutes ago? Subtlety? Booth already thinks you're going to kill him."

But the more she thought about it, the thought of sweet, good, Catholic Seeley Booth's eyes bugging out of his head at the thought of a dominatrix Brennan with her sights set on him just really amused her. A lot.

She could put a stop to it easily, but one last time she remembered Booth snapping at her. And that was all it took. Sorry, Booth.

Game on.

"But you know what, Bren, if you _do_ decide to go that route, just let his own imagination work against him. Trust me. He's a guy, and you're...well you're _you_. You don't have to shove him down the path. He'll probably get there all on his own."

As Angela watched, a slow smile spread across Brennan's face. "I have to go."

She was out of her chair like a shot, grabbing her coat and going for the door. Angela was right behind her.

"Wait...Brennan! What are you going to do?"

"Exactly what you said, obviously," she stated, never slowing down. "I'm going to make Booth perspire it through for tricking me into lunch with Gordon-Gordon. And then I'm going to fix his back and convince him to begin trial and error."

With a sigh, Angela gave up, knowing that following her was useless. "It's 'sweat it out', sweetie," she muttered. "Sweat it out."

TO BE CONTINUED...


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

 _"Take your shirt off, Booth. Right now."_

Booth's eyes flicked again down to the bag she had just dropped on the floor, vaguely aware of the way his Adam's apple was bobbing like a freaking cork as he tried to swallow hard and couldn't. There was just an air about her…

"What's in the bag, Bones?" he managed to stammer out.

She didn't even look at him, just leaving the bag a foot or so from his feet and making her way to stand in front of his coffee table. Propping one foot up, she hitched her skirt just a bit higher and began to slowly unzip her knee-length boot. The boots were part of her everyday wardrobe, but Booth was looking at them like he'd never seen them and thought they might actually jump up and bite him. His respiration was also noticeably increasing.

As she removed one and began work on the other, she cast him a meaningful glance, one eyebrow raised. "I asked you to remove your shirt, Booth. Do you require assistance?"

His gaze dropped back to his floor, where he couldn't take his eyes off that damn bag. At least not until he heard the rustling of fabric and looked up to see that her clingy black top was disappearing in favor of the skin-tight teensy black tank-top underneath, the hem of which didn't quite reach the top of her skirt and under which he could just make out the outline of what was clearly a very tiny, very lacy bra. The strap told him it was black. Her back was turned, and she was fiddling with something at her neck.

"Bones?"

It couldn't be what it looked like. It couldn't be. Because he couldn't even figure out what the hell it looked like.

"You tricked me today, Booth."

Finally he was able to swallow. "Bones."

"You said that already. I don't intend to repeat my request."

And God help him, his fingers started undoing the buttons of his shirt even as his heart hammered perilously hard in his chest. What the hell was she doing, and why was he going along with it? And what was in that _damn bag_?

He talked as he worked, vaguely aware that he sounded just a little desperate. "Bones, look. I'm sorry for lying to you. I really am. But when you started talking about leaves of absence, I just panicked. I would have called it off, but Gordon-Gordon actually said it was a good idea that he..."

Somewhere in mid-sentence his shirt had magically come the rest of the way off, and she had approached and was standing before him barefoot, in that skirt and her tank top and some kind of damned black necklace he had never seen before either, one that looked like some kind of sexy ribbon around her throat. She silenced him with a finger to his lips before he could complete the sentence.

"Turn around, Booth."

"Bones, what..."

"Just turn around," she pled, her eyes softening, and it was the pleading tone that got him.

Every instinct he had and every ounce of training he had ever received was screaming at him to _never_ turn his back on the enemy.

But he did. Because he had long ago decided that he'd do anything she asked of him.

But that didn't mean he didn't jump when she made her next move.

For long, long moments he stood, facing away from her while she stood directly behind him. The only sound he heard was his pulse thundering in his ears. The only sensation he felt was the oppressive fact that she wasn't touching him in any way, his skin burning at the knowledge that she was only centimeters behind him.

"Bones?"

And then suddenly, she pulled loose the velcro straps of the soft cast she still wore on her injured hand. The resulting sound was a loud ripping noise, only amplified by the previous silence.

Flinching hard, he whirled to face her. "What the hell..."

If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn that glint of humor in her eyes was back. _Devious_ humor. God, he was in so much trouble...

Now bare hands reached around him and touched the back of his shoulders, applying gentle pressure to turn him back around. "I'm simply removing my soft cast, Booth. It's quite restrictive for what I have planned."

He cleared his throat. "What is...and what is that?"

"I fully intend to address your deception today. But I need to fix your back first."

Every hair on the back of his neck stood up. "First?" Involuntarily, his eyes wandered back to the bag and he swallowed again. "And then what?"

Without reply, her arms snaked under his from behind to get into position for what he could only refer to as her 'magical back thingy'. The position was familiar, but he'd certainly never been shirtless before. And she'd never been in a teeny-tiny tanktop through which he'd be willing to swear he could feel lace-covered nipples.

As she began to manipulate and roll his body in the now-familiar movement that would bring near instantaneous relief to his aching back, he allowed a groan to pass his lips. Yeah, it wasn't like the thought had never crossed his mind before when she did this for him. But knowing things had changed between them, it was all more than a little erotic despite the pain. Especially considering the tension that had been building between them.

When she finished, she stepped away and watched him, clearly gratified to see that he could move freely again. When he automatically reached for his shirt, a relieved look on his face, she stopped him.

"No. Leave it off."

His vocabulary seemed to have been reduced to one-syllable words. "Bones..."

Mesmerized, he watched her ignore him and move toward the bag on the floor. To his disappointment, rather than opening the main compartment she unzipped a large side pocket. From it, she pulled out what looked like a yoga mat or some type of exercise mat. Wordlessly, she spread it on the floor.

"Lie down, Booth, on your stomach. Face away from me."

There wasn't an iota of 'request' in her voice. It was a damn order.

Why, when he was becoming more concerned by the moment that she intended to do something _very_ unbefitting of an in-between relationship to him, did every bit of blood in his body suddenly head south for the winter?

"Bones, what are you doing?"

"Addressing everything, as I promised earlier. Lie down, Booth."

After holding her eyes for just a moment and finding nothing even resembling mercy there, he submitted to his own insanity and did what she asked, carefully lowering himself to the ground and lying on his stomach. At least he could _get_ up and down off the ground again. But the fact that she had fixed him wasn't exactly reassuring either. Only the most sadistic and cruel of captors liked to fully heal their victims before torturing them. Fun little factoid from the front lines of his former life as a sniper. And why was that fact suddenly recurring in his brain?

Turning his head away from her as instructed and resting his head on his arms, he tried to shut off the speculation and just let his ears be attuned to every sound she made.

The first sound he heard was that of a zipper being undone. A small zipper. Not the one on the bag, even though he couldn't see it. He was very attuned to that bag. In fact, he'd have heard it if a fly landed on that goddamn bag.

No, this was more like...

Oh dear God, had she just undone her skirt?

Footsteps were next, and he'd have sworn she picked up the _fucking goddamn_ bag.

He discovered he was right when it landed with a thud again, just beside the back of his head this time. Wryly, after he managed with great effort to un-tense himself again from the way every muscle in his body had just jumped, he thought to himself that if her forensic anthropology skills were forever compromised, she at least had a promising career in psychological torture for the military.

As expected - feared? - the next sound he heard was the zipper on the bag itself.

Metal clinking...

glass...

fabric rustling, for long moments...

liquid sloshing...

And a million different mental images immediately conjured up to go with each of those.

Images which he immediately forgot all about when he sensed the fact that she had just straddled his back and was lowering herself down to sit on his ass.

The next sensation he was aware of, beyond the almost excruciating pleasure of her weight coming to rest against him in such an intimate way, was that her legs where her thighs hugged his naked back were equally bare. It made him flinch almost as badly as the bag dropping by his head. She had obviously taken off her skirt. But had she replaced it with...anything? And had there been anything under it to _start_ with?

"Holy...Bones...what are you wearing?"

"Not much," was the cryptic reply. "I don't wish to ruin my clothes."

Gulping hard, he tried to crane his neck to look behind him and see what she was doing. "Ruin your clothes?" With a gentleness that only amplified the effect of what she was doing, she touched his head and guided it back down. "How?"

"Don't worry about it, Booth," she murmured distractedly as she worked on something he couldn't see, her voice unintentionally low and sexy.

The next sound he heard was that of a match being struck, which sure as hell got his attention. Afraid to move, he went utterly still.

"Uh, Bones..."

Glass clinked again, as his brain told him that he felt the heat of the flame in a million different places that she actually never came close to.

"Relax, Booth," she relented and told him, giving his torso a reassuring squeeze with her thighs as her hands were clearly occupied. "It's all right…for now. I'm simply lighting some candles."

With him unable to see her, she didn't have to hide the smirk on her lips, reminding herself to thank Angela for this great idea. At the word 'candles,' Booth had gone even more tense than he already was at the sound of the match striking.

And she knew exactly what he was thinking. Because it was exactly what she wanted him to think.

The delicious way the muscles in his shoulders kept jumping, like he was just _waiting_ for something to land on his skin, was all the evidence she needed that his mind had gone directly where she wanted it.

Which made it so much more fun several long, tense moments later when she very, very quietly set the candles down out of his sight, leaving them burning - because they were, after all, quite expensive aromatherapy candles that Angela had assured her were stress-relieving when she purchased them, and clearly Booth was quite stressed - and she very, very quietly opened the bottle of her very best massage oil and dripped it onto his back.

Had she not had a pretty good grip on him with her thighs, the way he bucked would have thrown her right off.

"Jesus!" he hissed, only realizing a moment later that it was not, in fact, hot candle wax that had landed on him but something else - something cool which felt very, very good a moment later when she began to spread it across his naked back with her bare hands and it started to warm up beneath her fingers.

At the sound of her low chuckle, he actually relaxed a little, knowing the worst was over and realizing that he was actually about to be the recipient of what was probably going to be the most erotic massage he'd ever received in his life. And that he was okay with that.

"That was wrong, Bones." His own voice was breathless, sounding a hell of a lot more turned on than it had any right to considering what she had just put him through. But just so long as she didn't want to talk about exactly _why_ he responded to her little torture scenario quite that way, he wasn't going to worry about that too much. "Next time you're pissed off at me, just shoot me. I'm tempted to shoot you and Angela both."

His suspicions that he was in for a hell of a lot more pleasure than pain - thank God - were confirmed when her answer came in the form of a sultry purr that was just pure, sensual sin. "Oh, I don't think you want to do that, Agent Booth. I'm not done with you yet."

… ooo … ooo …

Not really trusting his voice to come out as anything other than a long, tortured groan at her sexy promise, Booth instead silently clenched his fists for control and just submitted himself to her ministrations. She didn't seem to expect an answer at that exact moment as she poured more oil onto her hands and him. If she was fine with the silence he was fine with it too, just as long as she kept doing exactly what she was doing.

Although her promise a couple nights before to give him a massage had certainly sent his imagination running, he had reined himself in and anticipated that in reality, being Bones, she had probably taken a course or something and was going to give him a 100% professional, by-the-book massage.

Not that that was anything to complain about, either...Bones' hands on him were still Bones' hands on him.

But what he was actually going to get, he quickly learned, was far from professional or by the book. He realized that happy fact almost immediately, much to his delight, when her soft hands which made quick work of spreading oil all over his naked back almost instantly started to forget all about kneading his tender muscles. Instead, they seemed to be much more in favor of doing something that felt suspiciously more like she was sitting on top of him copping a feel - or as she would probably try to bullshit her way out of it, "examining his musculature."

Yeah.

Right.

As if he couldn't tell when a woman just wanted to grope him, even one with a genius IQ. Never had he been more happy to play along.

Turning his face down into his crossed arms where his head already lay, he didn't try to hold his grin at bay. It wasn't often that he got an ego boost from Brennan. Usually the best he could hope for was a backhanded compliment in which he just had to overlook whatever form of unintentional insult she automatically included. He also didn't attempt to hide the self-satisfied chuckle that rumbled from low in his chest.

"Find something you like, Bones?"

He had no way of knowing that his low chuckle and equally deep words seemed to shoot right straight from his chest down his spine, seeming to hit her full-force right where their bodies made contact at the juncture of her legs, which was pressed tightly against his ass- no way of knowing just how much of an effect her little game had had on both of them.

At least, he had no way of knowing until her thighs gripped him just a little more tightly, and the feel of her weight on him shifted as she leaned forward. Her hands left him and he missed them almost instantly, but realized a moment later that she had braced them on the ground on either side of him so that she could lean over him. The next sensation he felt was an unexpected one: some type of soft fabric, hanging loosely, encountered his back as she leaned forward. The last he knew, she had been in her tank top. Remembering the sound of fabric rustling for what had seemed like an eternity before she straddled his back, he realized that not only had she removed her skirt, she must have changed clothes completely. She had turned his head back around the one time he tried to look back when she was playing with the candles, so he had yet to see her - one more detail to drive him crazy.

 _What the hell was she wearing?_ That question had already effectively wiped the cocky grin right off his face by the time that she elicited a sharp hiss from him with her hot breath against his shoulder blade, followed by the immediate light scrape of teeth on his skin there. Her tongue swept out to soothe and taste before the sound of his gasp ever faded, her lips finishing the job with an open-mouthed kiss. And he'd have staked his life on the fact that he felt hard little nipples through soft fabric against his back as she leaned over him.

 _"God,_ Bones..." His voice was little more than just that one, long groan he had been trying to avoid, but he no longer cared.

"Mmmmm..." she still leaned over him, and he could feel the ends of her ponytail begin to tickle him where it fell over her shoulder and made contact with his skin, probably getting damp with the oil. The tip of her tongue darted out once more, and she trailed it a short distance up toward the nape of his neck, giving her own low chuckle when he shivered.

"The advertiser's claims appear to be factual."

Every vestige of his cocky smirk was gone, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as his respiration and heart rate shot through the roof. He knew he was truly a goner for this woman tonight when her squinty remark made his hips buck involuntarily one time beneath her with every bit as much effectiveness as her sultry promise earlier had achieved. How could a comment that included the word 'factual' be better than the hottest dirty talk?

"Bones, what are you _doing?"_

She gave him one more lick for good measure, before bringing her hands back up onto his skin, shifting back to sit up again in a way that almost ripped another groan from his throat as her weight pressed him deliciously into the mat on which he lay. She began re-spreading the remaining oil all over him.

"I should assume that would be obvious."

"The oil, Bones..." It wasn't the question he meant to ask, but _damn -_ it was practically a miracle that his brain was still managing the suddenly mind-twisting concept of _inhale, exhale, repeat._

"The oil, Booth, is edible and strawberry flavored. And very high quality."

Right. Of course it was. And why did that make him want to whimper? Maybe it had something to do with the idea of her tongue all over him. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that he _just freaking knew_ that that oil had run down the sides of his back and now coated the insides of her thighs as well where they made contact with him - a fact she obviously wanted him to be aware of as she slid them slickly against his sides now and again to drive home the point: she now tasted like strawberries right in between her damn legs.

"Oh yeah?" He'd be kicking himself later for not coming up with some smooth comment, but at that particular time _'Oh yeah'_ was practically as difficult for him as conjugating French verbs.

Her nails skating lightly up his spine to the short hair at the back of his neck created a roaring in his ears that almost drowned out her reply. "Mm-hm. It actually does taste like strawberries. In the past, I've found that the claims made about taste can be..."

And just like that, some blood actually made the long trip back to his brain. "Whoa! Stop right there! Too much information there, Bones."

Her hands paused where they had finally begun to truly dig into his tense muscles and begin working the knots out. "I'm sorry, Booth. Does it bother you to know that I've done this before?"

Did it bother - was she _kidding?_ He was so flabbergasted he could barely speak. Again. "Next topic, Bones."

Her hands had resumed their amazing work of removing the tension from his body. "Although," she continued as though she hadn't heard a word he said, "I do find that thinking of _your_ previous sexual encounters causes me to be slightly uncomfortable as well. Logically, it should have the opposite effect: the more experience one's sexual partner possesses, the greater the promise of skilled and mutually gratifying intercourse."

He was obviously losing brain cells by the second as her hands slickly slid over him, making him bite his lip as she expertly applied just the right amounts of pressure at each knot she came to. It took him a little longer than normal to translate her words from the sometimes mystifying language of _Brennan_ into his own native tongue of _Guy._

"It's called jealousy, Bones," he told her as he fought a smile, choosing to just ignore her reference to him as her 'sexual partner' for the moment and focus on the extremely 'gratifying' (to steal her word) revelation that she wasn't any happier thinking about him with Tessa or Rebecca than he was thinking about her with college professors or frigging deep-sea welders. "It's a good thing, in moderation. It just means you don't like the idea of somebody else's hands on what's yours."

He expected to get a lecture about the fact that they didn't own one another.

What he got was her exquisite little hands working even harder on his tight muscles, her touch just a tinge possessive. "Hm. I concede your point."

Her thighs slid slickly against his sides again as she readjusted her position to get a better angle on a particularly stubborn knot, a motion which did very, very little to relax him.

"You're extremely tense, Booth," she stated very matter-of-factly, as though she couldn't imagine why.

He managed a small, disbelieving sound that actually almost _didn't_ sound like a groan as she ground herself down into his ass to gain more leverage for her hands, leaning forward and then rocking back with just the right amount of pressure where she pressed him into the floor, just enough to make his eyes almost roll back in his head. It was taking every ounce of effort he could drum up to maintain conversation. "Well, y'know Bones, torture has a way of doing that."

Finally satisfied that she had worked out the tension in that spot, she moved on, lightly running her fingers up and down his back for just a moment to break up the action and keep him guessing. "Am I torturing you, Booth?"

 _'Yes!'_ his mind screamed, as it registered the sultry way she said it. _'And she damn well knows it. And I can't even turn the tables on her, and she knows that too.'_

"Well not _now_ ," he retorted instead. "I was talking about your little dominatrix routine earlier. You scared the shit out of me, Bones."

He heard her laugh, and it felt like it vibrated all the way through him - and he knew that he'd let her do anything to him she liked as long as it made her happy. "I actually did very little to perpetuate that image. Angela recommended that I use subtle suggestion to influence your own imagination to work against you. You're the one who perceived me that way."

He squirmed under her. "Exactly how much of this did you and Angela discuss?"

Leaning forward, her hands left his back and reached down to slide slickly onto his arms where they were crossed under his head. Applying gentle pressure, she pulled them loose and stretched them out down his sides behind him, so that the tips of his fingers rested just outside her widespread thighs around him. From somewhere beside her, she picked up a small pillow that must have been in her bag and put it beneath his head so he could still relax. Whether she had planned it or not, the scent of strawberries on the pillow where the oil from her hands had rubbed off on it sent his mind straight back to the very distracting thought that that was _exactly_ how she smelled between her legs right then thanks to that oil. He didn't even realize that he was licking his lips with that thought as her slick hands began sliding down his arms from the shoulder toward his bicep.

"Not much," she reassured him. "All of the details were my own idea."

 _And that was supposed to be comforting?_

"She did, however, talk me out of the leather pants and the whip," she told him, the glint of humor in her voice relaxing him as her hands kneaded his biceps...again feeling like maybe her interest in that area of his anatomy was more than really necessary for the purpose of the massage.

"Damn," he replied kiddingly, meaning it as a joke but his voice going thick as her hands strayed lower down his forearms, wrapping around his wrists before her hands slid smoothly into his. Taking the opportunity, he grasped her fingers, his own immediately becoming slick as their hands slid against one another. Backwards, he interlaced their fingers together, feeling the oil slide between his own fingers as they rubbed and caressed hers. His voice had grown almost distractingly husky as he tried to keep their light banter going.

"All I could hear was Sweets' voice in my head telling me to let you be in control," he quipped.

He felt the pressure on his ass let up as she rose higher onto her knees and removed her hands from his, and he tried to look back in alarm to see what she was doing, worried that his joking statement might have upset her. Again, she gently guided his head down before he could really see her. Her thighs sliding slickly against him, she inched forward along him until she was directly over the small of his back before lowering herself back down onto him.

"I'm relatively certain that's not what he meant," she told him with some amusement. "But is that why you went along with it?"

He barely heard her words. The only thing he was cognizant of, as the bare skin of his back came in contact with her, was searing heat, dampness...and the feel of some type of fabric that was the only barrier between his naked back and her obviously aroused core; a very _small_ amount of fabric. Rough fabric, he realized as she shifted again. Lacy fabric, he was almost certain. He at least had some answer now to the question of what she was wearing on the bottom: nothing but lace panties. _Wet_ lace panties. If she had stayed true to her earlier theme, he'd bet a lot that they were black, too. Ever since he realized she'd removed her skirt, he'd been imagining her in little shorts of some kind, just to keep himself at bay. Now he was imagining black lace panties while he felt her heat and dampness against him.

So what the hell was the loose fabric covering her top that he had felt against his back earlier? If he didn't get to find out soon, he was going to explode.

She took his hands, lifting them slightly and placing them against the outsides of her thighs before letting go, a clear demand for him to touch her. It was a slightly awkward position for him reaching back like he was, but he was able immediately to splay his fingers backward on her thighs, the oily feel of his fingers making the touch that much hotter as he rubbed the silky skin, mingling the oil on his hands and her thighs together, careful not to let his fingers roam very high.

" _God_ , Bones, you feel good," was all he could say, his voice a tortured groan.

"Was that why?" she asked again, her missing hands suddenly reappearing at his temples, her touch gentle as she massaged him there, and answering the question of exactly why she had felt the need to torture him by moving higher on his back where he could feel her wet heat against naked skin.

 _Why what? Oh, shit, he had no idea what she was talking about. All he wanted was to flip over and thrust up against her...or flip her under him and taste that damn oil between her thighs..._

"I'm sorry, Bones," he managed. "What was the question?" His hands gripped her thighs more tightly, his battle for self-control raging.

She never stopped her sweet assault on his temples, simultaneously the most relaxing and most erotic touch he had ever felt as the scent of the oil on her hands lingered so close to his nostrils, again reminding him how easy it would be to just take a taste...

"What Sweets told you...is that why you did what I asked tonight?"

Had there been any blood in his brain, he might have pointed out that she hadn't _asked_ him to do anything. It didn't really matter. The answer was the same.

"Sweets has nothing to do with it. I trust you, Bones. I knew you were pissed off at me, and I knew you probably had a right to be. But I knew you wouldn't go too far. And I did tell you that you can touch me however you like."

At her silence, he gave her thighs another caress. He could practically hear her thinking, and he wanted to reassure her that she hadn't done anything wrong. But for the sake of both their respective sanities, he needed to find a way to word it that didn't include the fact that she had had him harder than hell and she could have probably got him to go along with just about anything. "I trust you completely, Bones. I put my life in your hands daily, just like you put yours in mine." The hint of a wry smile crossed his lips. "Doesn't mean you didn't have me going, though. You should write a book on torture techniques."

His honest answer made her feel just the tiniest bit guilty - as did the sight that caught her eyes, unnoticed on his coffee table until that point.

Another huge vase of daisies sat, this time with _two_ daffodils worked into the middle.

"More flowers, Booth?"

"Hm?" How one person could be so relaxed and so turned on at the same time he couldn't explain, but neither was really doing wonders for his brain and his ability to keep up with her rapid topic changes. "Oh yeah. Those are for you, Bones," he told her needlessly.

"You never told me why there was one daffodil in the last arrangement, and now this one has two. Why, Booth?"

"I told you, Bones...I want you to guess."

"And I told you I'm not guessing. That's juvenile."

She could hear his smirk, could even feel it where her hands grasped his face. "Fine. Then you still don't get an answer."

Her hands stilled, then moved into his hair, massaging his scalp and drawing another groan from him. "Oh God yes, Bones, just like that..."

"Why do you want me to guess so badly, Booth?" she pouted, making him smile.

"Because you already know the answer."

"If I knew the answer, I wouldn't ask the question," she shot back.

Silent for a few moments, he appeared to be deep in thought, just enjoying her fingers in his hair. "What's this all about tonight, Bones - this whole thing? What's this all really about?"

Her hands stilled completely again, then left his scalp.

Seconds ticked by, and he could hear himself swallow as he waited for her to answer, the mood in the room suddenly tense.

"I wanted to talk to you about a flaw in your logic."

Both of them were still, their only contact her intimate one against his back and his hands still resting on her thighs, utterly still.

"You mean about...us?"

"About our physical relationship," she clarified.

Next, the pressure on his lower back eased as she raised slightly off of him. Her fingers dropped to her own thighs, brushing against his.

"Turn over, Booth."

… ooo … ooo … ooo

He'd have loved to have a single noble intention left at that point. He really would have.

But the fact of the matter was that every fiber of Booth's being was screaming at him to turn over, had been screaming it for several minutes, and all he had really been holding out for was that one little invitation that he desperately hoped would be forthcoming.

So without so much as a _'Maybe this isn't a good idea,'_ he bid a cheerful goodbye to the last remaining shred of his common sense and began to turn over like she asked, knowing he was only inviting more torture.

He made it as far as his side before his eyes finally drank in the answer to the most burning question which had been preoccupying his mind: just exactly _what_ was she wearing?

Freezing for a moment beneath her without flipping the rest of the way to his back, he felt his breath leave him in a whoosh. Well he hadn't expected _that._

He had, truthfully, been expecting some type of sexy lingerie, the thought of which actually made him a little apprehensive all things considered. The memories there, considering everything that happened in Albania and the items she had been _forced_ to wear in front of him, just weren't the best memories for either of them, to be perfectly honest. In fact, sexy lingerie was near the top on his ever-present mental list of things to be cautious about, a list which currently bore the ever-changing title of 'Things that are probably going to freak us both out a little, although if she's okay with it I could probably find a way to deal pretty damn fast.'

But no, what met his eyes was even better than sexy lingerie, and no less arousing. And definitely more fitting for the circumstances, as far as he was concerned, since no way in hell was he letting this go all the way tonight, no matter what.

Meeting the knowing smirk in her eyes, he started breathing again and flipped the rest of the way to his back, semi-thankful that when she lowered herself she was sitting high enough up his abdomen that she wasn't directly over the part of him he was most trying to ignore at the moment. He might not have made it otherwise without embarrassing himself. As it was, he was still all too aware of her perfectly shaped little lace-covered ass sitting just in front of and practically brushing him.

"Nice touch, Bones," he commented, his eyes sweeping hungrily over his 'missing' FBI t-shirt with the name _'Booth'_ staring back at him from the left side of her chest, just above the swell of her breast. It didn't cover her much lower than that either, as she had tied a little knot in it at about waist level. He wanted to be still, let her take the lead, but the fact that she was wearing _his_ shirt with _his_ name _right there_ , paired with nothing but a teeny-tiny pair of lace panties that he could now cheerfully confirm were black, had his hands itching to just _touch. His_ shirt. _His_ name. _His_ woman.

Despite his internal warnings, his hand reached out to play with the little knot she had tied to hold the shirt up out of the oil. It hadn't entirely succeeded, her act of leaning over him having caused the shirt to soak up some oil in strategic places...like the two little wet spots right over her nipples from where they had brushed against his oil-covered back when she leaned over him, spots that looked for all the world like maybe they had been caused by his mouth being there and suckling her through the t-shirt. _Strawberry-flavored_ wet spots, he remembered and stifled a groan. It just wasn't right that it _wasn't_ his mouth that had caused that look, and the very first thing he would like to do to her was remedy that particular wrong and find out just how factual the advertiser's claims about strawberry taste really were.

"Yes. I noticed that you seemed to enjoy seeing me wear this before. Do you still like it?" Her tone was as matter-of-fact as ever, but the glint in her eyes told him that she already knew the answer.

Her hands still rested on her thighs, and he bodly nudged them out of the way and replaced them with his own, splaying his fingers out across her thighs, squeezing and sliding and feeling the very erotic slip of the oil, letting his fingers slide just a tiny bit higher this time. After all, she was the one who put his hands on her thighs in the first place a few minutes before. That bridge had already been crossed.

"I should. It's mine, or at least it was. Y'know, it's not nice to steal, Bones."

"I was developing my frontal lobe," she told him, quirking a cute little crooked grin that told him she knew that of her attempts at humor, that was one of the better ones.

And damnit, he couldn't even really acknowledge it because all he could think of was 1001 ways they could develop her frontal lobe a hell of a lot more, at least 100 of which starred that little bottle of oil. If she could know his thoughts right then, she'd never call him a prude again.

Like she _had_ read his mind, her eyes darkened as they swept down over his chest, and he knew she was thinking some of the same things. Her hands having been removed from where she had them, they needed somewhere to go. They landed on the hem of the shirt, toying with it, her voice suddenly utterly and deadly serious when she said her next words, her eyes piercing into him and letting him know just exactly how serious she was.

"But I could give it back. Right now."

The flow of blood to his nether regions increased, his level of desire shot through the roof, and time stood still for a moment as he fought it out internally. Because he knew - he _knew_ \- that he could have her right there on his living room floor, right then. And he knew that if she took off that shirt, he was _going_ to. It hadn't exactly escaped his notice that even through her panties she was so wet against his stomach that he could smell her over the heady scent of strawberries, nor had he failed to notice that the scent of her was far sweeter. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and there was no artificial aphrodisiac more powerful than that.

But in the end, love won out over lust and his hands left her thighs to take her hands in his, holding them still and pulling them away from the hem of the shirt. He couldn't let her sweep that shirt off over her head, no matter how much he wanted her to, because if she did it was game over.

And she had _just told him_ before he flipped over that the whole point of her little torture scenario that night was because she needed to talk to him about _something_ concerning their physical relationship.

He needed to know first _exactly_ what that was before he put even one more _finger_ on her. Because if, God help him, he let things go past the point of no return only to find out afterward that she had actually come there to discuss some type of _reservations_ about being intimate with him and had just gotten carried away in the moment, he'd probably lose it completely when she inevitably pulled away from him for taking advantage of her. He'd end up with local cops trying to talk him down off some bridge somewhere. Wouldn't that be a great headline.

And he hadn't even bought her dinner yet, for God's sake. What the hell happened to something-in-between? It was _his_ promise to her…and to himself too. And he was not the type of man to break promises. He wasn't even a have-sex-on-the-first-date type of guy, at least not when he really liked the girl and thought it might go somewhere. And he sure as hell wasn't a have-sex- _before-_ the-first-date type of guy, a standard he had no intention of changing on the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. She deserved better than that. She deserved the very best he could give her, and his living room floor on a whim wasn't it.

So he said the last thing he wanted to say when she was offering to get completely naked in front of him.

"Don't do that, Bones." His voice was strained, his eyes pleading, his grip on her hands unintentionally almost painful, and she saw instantly what it had cost him to stop her.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, trying to gain some semblance of control, every muscle in his body more tense than when she had begun his massage. Nothing could soothe the almost unbearable ache in his groin, at least nothing he could allow to happen right then. "I think it's time for us to slow down and have that talk."

If she had toyed with him right then, he might have died. But, proving that she wasn't quite as oblivious as she sometimes acted, instead she turned her hands in his so that she could interlock their fingers, effectively breaking his death grip on her, and then let their linked hands fall together to rest against his chest.

Had his eyes been open, he might have seen the disappointment there. As it was, he didn't even dare look at her. "Yes. There is something I wish to discuss with you, Booth."

And apparently she wanted to do it from right there perched atop him, which for some reason made sense to him at that point. Must've been the total absence of any blood flow above the waist.

His eyes were still closed, one of his only defenses at the moment. "I'm listening."

"I would like to move our physical relationship forward."

The only conclusion he could draw from that statement was that lack of blood to the brain was _not good_. Because for some reason, in his current state of having been teased and tortured until he was ready to go off if she just _looked_ at him the right way, that statement struck him as utterly ludicrous and even mildly funny. A harsh bark of laughter broke free, followed by another as he released her hands and brought one arm up to throw over his eyes.

Oh, God. _Not. Helping. Bones._

This was what she wanted to talk about? That was the big mystery - that she was getting impatient enough with his slow pace that she was ready to jump him? If he hadn't figured that one out by now, he just needed to turn in his badge.

"Yeah. I caught that, Bones. Somewhere between the strawberry flavored oil and the black lace, I think I finally got it." Growing more serious with a huge sigh, he still didn't move his arm away from his face or open his eyes, thinking that the entire universe was just incredibly unfair. "But you know my reasoning. You know why we can't right now."

Apparently she didn't appreciate being laughed at, even laughter caused by near-hysteria that _she_ had caused, because the next thing he was aware of was her small hands gripping both of his wrists and pushing them down to the ground by his head, cutting off his self-pity rather effectively and instantly driving his eyes open to lock with hers - which were filled with challenge.

"Actually I _don't_ know why, and your reasoning makes no sense. I'm not finished, Booth. Be still."

Releasing his wrists right there after one final push of pressure that told him she intended him to keep them there, she retrieved the bottle of oil, poured out some more onto her hands and calmly resumed her 'massage' duties, starting with the fronts of his shoulders and down across his pectoral muscles. At least one of them was calm, at least outwardly. He couldn't have been more frozen in that position if she had restrained him, barely daring to breathe as he felt the slippery oil work its magic on his front as well.

Her eyes focused on what she was doing as she spoke, only her tone giving a hint of the frustration she felt.

"Your reasoning is circular. You have told me that in order to work through my reactions, we must engage in what you called 'trial and error.' But then you also say that we're going to remain 'something-in-between' and that you will not initiate physical contact until you are certain that I will no longer respond with fear, not even allowing the trial and error process to begin. That reasoning puts us into a permanent stalemate, Booth, especially considering that you also put a halt to any advances I make toward you and refuse to reciprocate."

Blinking up at her, he knew she was right. The surprising thing, although it shouldn't be, was that she had figured it out and managed to put it so succinctly. But she had called his bluff, and it was time to be honest.

"I know," he admitted softly, leaving her the one blinking, her hands stilling.

"You know?" She looked at him like he had just been attempting to convince her that there were actually only 106 bones in the human body.

Nodding at her, he lifted one arm to reach a hand up to her face, cupping her cheek tenderly. His eyes, full of intensity, were glued to hers. "I know. You're right, Bones. About all of it."

"But..." She was completely flustered, noticeably. Circular reasoning was difficult enough for her to tolerate. _Intentional_ circular reasoning was clearly something for which she had _zero_ patience.

"That makes no sense, Booth. It's irrational to cling to an erroneous argument if you're aware of its error."

"Not when you're scared half to death, it isn't," he told her patiently, gently. "I know I'm stalling, but I've got good reason. I'm absolutely terrified of hurting you again."

Realization dawned on her face. "That's what Angela said."

He didn't even rebuke her for having talked about it with Angela. Instead, his agreement was immediate as he dropped his hand from her face and put it back where she had previously placed it by his head, relaxing into her touch as she recovered from her initial shock and began massaging his pectorals again.

"She's right. And you're right too. I know I'm the one that told you it's going to be trial-and-error, Bones, and I know you want to start trying. Believe me, I do too. It's just the error part that has me scared senseless. I don't want to see that look on your face again, ever, and I damn sure don't want to be the one to cause it. I don't want to feel you tense up in my arms again because of my touch, knowing that all you want is to get away from me. It _hurts,_ Bones."

She considered that honestly. "It's almost certain to happen at some point, Booth," she pointed out. "You yourself said that certain things were going to be difficult, and I concur. I would assume that that's the 'error' portion of trial-and-error."

"I know," he whispered again, his hands growing restless by his head with the need to just give in and touch her the way they both obviously wanted, but just needing that extra shove to put him past the fear of her involuntary reactions.

Her hands stopped again, resting against his chest as she studied him closely. He lay in fascinated silence watching her mind work, knowing with certainty that he better pay attention to whatever she said next.

" _I'm_ not afraid of error, Booth."

His mouth fell open slightly, her words causing his heartbeat to begin to quicken.

"Logically, I accept it as part of the process. And..." She hesitated for just a split second, long enough to let him know that whatever had almost slipped out of her mouth was something he needed to hear.

His hand lifted of its own accord, again framing her face with a barely-there touch. He wanted desperately to hear the end of that thought. "And?"

"And I don't fear _you_. I trust you."

His eyes slammed shut momentarily, as he fought for control. Those words had the same effect on him every damn time, equally sending him soaring and scaring the hell out of him. Hearing that from her was every bit as powerful as hearing she loved him, because no one knew better than him just what it took to earn that trust from her, and just what a risk he had taken with it.

"Bones..."

But she wasn't finished.

"You told me to tell you when I was ready to move forward, Booth. So I'm telling you. I wish to begin the trial-and-error portion of our physical relationship. Tonight."

Her eyes were glued on him, awaiting his next move, but something still held him back. "C'mon, Bones, at least let me buy you dinner first." He tried for a joking attitude, but failed so miserably that he knew even she had to see through it.

And she did see through it, getting right to the very heart of the matter.

"What are you really afraid of, Booth?" she asked him, her eyes softening. "What is your gut telling you is going to happen?"

Opening his eyes and seeing the concern in hers - concern for _him_ \- there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he was going to tell her. He didn't _want_ to tell her, because the admission seemed so selfish. He didn't want her to know that his primary motivation for keeping his hands to himself was almost shamefully self-centered, as far as he was concerned.

"I just don't want to lose you," he whispered back, his voice hoarse, his eyes desperately searching hers. "I don't want to hurt you or scare you - God knows I don't want that - but mostly I just don't want you to run from me afterwards."

She almost looked _surprised,_ like the idea had never occurred to her. "Booth..." Her own eyes closed for a moment as she considered her words, before reopening and fixing softly on him. "As I understand the term 'trial-and-error,' it implies that one tries again even after an error. You're not going to lose me. I'm not going to run when you touch me, even if it causes an irrational but uncontrollable response." Only her rapid breathing gave away just how nervous she was as well, as she watched him visibly begin to cave. "If that happens, we'll just...try again. I promise."

He drew in one more deep breath, studying her, as time seemed to freeze. Finally, after long, tension-filled moments, it was evident in his eyes when he made his decision, and he gave her a single, slow, quiet nod in a way that made her breath hitch in her throat: he planned to touch her.

Oh-so-slowly, his hand slid down her cheek, his eyes roving all over her as if deciding where to start.

His hand slid down her neck, over the neckline of his t-shirt, and just below her collarbone to the 'B' on his name. Carefully, so lightly that she barely felt it, he began tracing it with one finger, staring at the letter instead of at her face, as though that B held the answers to life itself. It was the most barely-there touch she had ever felt, but for reasons she couldn't have explained it held her utterly mesmerized, as did his eyes which were both black as night and filled with the most serious expression she had ever seen.

"We're not having sex tonight, Bones," he told her more bluntly than he had ever imagined speaking to a lover, knowing that with her it was the only sane approach. "That's rule number 1."

Before he was even done speaking, his free hand found its way back onto her closest thigh, absently running up and down the top of it and not even realizing how much closer he was getting every time to touching her where she most wanted his hands.

Her heartrate had already sped to an almost frightening level as that single finger lightly skimmed her flesh through the shirt, even before the added stimulation of his hand high up her thigh. But she wasn't about to be one-upped. If he had rules, she had some too. "Fine. But we sleep in your bed tonight. No more couches."

He didn't put up the fight she thought he might have, instead moving on to the O, just a miniscule distance above the upper slope of her breast, calling into question exactly where it was that she _did_ most want his hands. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure. That one finger held her attention as surely as his hand on her thigh. If he would just move that one finger down just a few centimeters...

"Agreed. Rule number 2, Bones: no more of your clothes come off."

The hand on her thighs went mysteriously missing, causing her to whimper at its sudden absence, but it didn't take long for her entire world to focus in on that one maddening finger that was still so busy branding her. The indescribable feel of him tracing out his name on her body so close to where she really wanted that hand would have made her agree to just about anything. It made her feel _marked_ , which she would never have believed could send a flood of arousal shooting through her. "Done. My turn. Are you wearing boxers, Booth?"

He just kept tracing that first O as they discussed terms. "Mm-hm."

"Then you agree to let me remove your pants."

"Veto," he shot back hastily, but not before she felt his hips buck behind her, bumping his hardness into the back of her.

"What? You don't get to veto!" she protested, with that pouty look that always killed him. "I agreed to _your_ rules. And I'm in my panties, so it's only fair!"

"And I'm shirtless! It _is_ fair _._ Besides, we each get one veto, Bones," he told her a little desperately, making it up as he went, with the full knowledge that if she put her hot little hands on his zipper every one of his rules were flying out the damn window. He could only hope he hadn't just used his one veto too soon. "That's how it works."

"Oh," her brow furrowed so damn adorably that he almost groaned. "I wasn't familiar with the process. Okay. Continue."

She had absently still been wondering where his other hand had gone, and she found out when it came to rest suddenly on her hip, grasping the flesh there so hard that it took her a moment to realize she had been rocking slightly against his stomach trying to soothe the ache between her thighs, and he was stilling her.

Frustrated, she whimpered, not sure when she had completely lost control of this encounter and equally unsure of exactly why the fact that he had assumed control even from his position beneath her turned her on so much.

And then that previously missing hand, nice and oily from its travels up and down her thigh, suddenly came into play again as it disappeared from her hip only to immediately slip just below the hem of her t-shirt. _His_ t-shirt. Which was also the exact moment she realized that while his hand had been missing, it had been busy untying the knot she had tied in the shirt, leaving it nice and loose for his hand to sneak under like it had just started doing.

"So we're agreed so far, Bones?" he asked, not realizing just how far to distraction his wandering hand had brought her, mingled with her anticipation of exactly what he planned to do when he finally finished with all of his maddening rules. "No sex tonight, and both our clothes stay on."

As he spoke, the hand beneath her shirt continued a slow slide up her ribs, occasionally dropping back down before continuing its upward progress, sometimes splaying his fingers out over her ribs as he spread the oil on her body beneath the shirt. The other hand on top of her clothes - that one, single, unbelievably torturous finger - just kept right on tracing those first two letters as he laid down his rules. There was going to be a rule for each letter, she realized. Not that she believed in God, but she was suddenly inordinately thankful that He had let Booth be born into a family with a short last name.

Biting her lip, she nodded in agreement to his recap of the rules thus far as though she had actually heard a word he said, fighting the irrational urge to cry when that one finger left the top of the shirt for the half-second it took to move from the first O to the second. He looked deep in thought, clearly trying to pick his next rule carefully. A smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, as he clearly thought he had hit upon a stroke of genius.

"Number 3: Before anything else happens again after tonight, you let me buy you dinner at least twice. And I get to pull out your chair without you complaining about it or calling me a caveman."

Her head had dropped back, seemingly against her will. She groaned out loud, eyes fixed on the ceiling, less patient with that particular rule than she had been with the first two, mostly because as he was speaking his questing hand beneath her shirt had climbed higher, his oily fingers just barely brushing the underside of her breast for the first time.

"Oh, God, Booth, would you please just touch me?"

Her impatient words seemed to have the dual effect of both amusing him and causing his lower body to buck one time behind her again, hard, even as he retraced that second O with one finger. He retreated slightly with the hand beneath her shirt, back to the relative safety of her ribcage, and patiently waited for her to negotiate. "No counter demand to that rule, Bones, or was that it? Because just to be fair, I'm gonna do that anyway."

She glared down at him, her eyes a little glazed, her own hips bucking at his oh-so-casually-stated promise. But defiance should have been her middle name. "Yes. I'm leaving the tip. Are you finished?"

But not done with his rules, he just grinned at her for a moment, actually enjoying finally having all the control for the first time in recent memory. His finger moved over to the T, taking its sweet time tracing it, applying just a little more pressure. The hand beneath her shirt moved back up, this time going so far as to lightly cup her breast, testing its weight in his palm, still avoiding the nipple to her utter and complete frustration. Her own hands had long since gone still, just bracing herself against his chest, the massage forgotten. Whimpering, her back arched, pushing her breast more firmly into his hand. She looked like she wanted to kill him when his hand replied by withdrawing completely, right out from under her shirt.

"Number 4 is important, Bones, so I need your attention. No hiding anything from me, no trying to be brave. If you even think you're going to have a flashback, you tell me immediately so I can stop. You hear me, Temperance?" With the hand beneath her shirt gone, her entire being focused on that one finger again, writing his name on her. Over and back, over and back, his finger traced out the T on his shirt.

 _'T for Temperance,'_ was the insanely incoherent thought that made its way through her suddenly not-so-genius brain at his use of her given name combined with the action of his finger. "Uh-huh."

"No discussion on that one, Bones. It's non-negotiable." Silence met him, and he watched in fascination as her thighs clenched around him while she squirmed on top of him. The heat and dampness of her were quickly driving him to distraction right along with her. "Do you accept my terms?" he guided. Despite his seriousness about that particular rule, he was a little amused at just how quickly she had lost the power of speech. It was a heady feeling, knowing that he affected her just as strongly as she affected him.

Eagerly, she nodded, barely able to be still, ready for him to just get to H.

She didn't even have to look to know when his one finger slid over and finally started tracing the H on his name. She hadn't had to look since B. She could feel each letter of his name burned into her skin like he had used hot metal to brand her. And she really didn't care whether that was scientifically possible or not. She probably couldn't even _spell_ 'scientifically' right then. She just wanted to know what was going to happen when he got done with that H.

As he slowly and maddeningly ran his finger reverently over the H, he used the free arm he had withdrawn from her shirt to begin pushing himself up to a sitting position. Somewhere, she found the presence of mind to back herself off of his stomach onto his lap so he could get up, a movement which also had the intensely pleasing effect of bringing their sexes into close proximity as her weight settled back on him.

His finger on the H stilled at the intimate contact, his other hand reflexively going to grasp her waist and hold her against him as his forehead fell forward to meet hers. Eyes closed, he breathed hard with the effort of maintaining his sanity. Both on equal footing now, both equally affected by the other, both equally in control or lack thereof, his breath came in shallow gasps as he finally tried to look into her eyes but could only stare at her mouth and lick his lips.

"Last rule, Bones," he managed to choke out, his lips a hairs breadth from hers. "We'll make forward progress, but no farther than second base. Not tonight."

He had half expected an "I don't know what that means." He should have known she only pulled that out when it served her purpose to do so.

And at that exact moment, it didn't.

What he got was a purely triumphant, predatory smile as her hands slid up his bare chest, one continuing up around behind his neck.

He only heard one word as both of his hands rose up to grasp her face and curl his fingers around into her ponytail, pulling her face toward him - a word she got out just a half-second before, by mutual agreement, their lips came crashing together in a kiss that threatened to explode.

"Veto."

TO BE CONTINUED…


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

 _"Veto..."_

The word took a moment to register through Booth's lust-addled brain and body, but when it finally got there he only tightened his grip in her hair, pulling her to him and going after her lips with even more fervor as her desire fanned the flames of his.

"God, Bones," he managed to groan in between kisses, as she nipped and sucked at his bottom lip, her tongue darting out to keep tasting him in protest of the way he pulled back to talk to her. "You really are gonna be the death of me."

She didn't even get a chance to reply. Whatever words she had intended to torment him with next were lost as one of his hands released her hair, his arm snaking around her lower back and pulling their lower bodies even more closely together, holding her there with firm pressure. The resulting sensations in both their bodies ripped an answering groan from her throat, which he immediately swallowed as his other hand went to the back of her neck, pulling her in and sealing their lips together.

He didn't fight his desire when her tongue quickly requested entrance to his mouth, a request which was immediately granted.

He didn't fight his desire when the urge to claim her mouth and explore every bit of it with his own tongue became more than he could bear and he demanded entrance of his own, their tongues sliding across each other, rubbing and tasting.

He didn't fight it when both of his hands suddenly landed at her waist of their own volition, unable to resist applying a little downward pressure to push her more firmly against him before those hands began their slow crawl up her ribcage beneath his shirt she still wore - the splay of his fingers around her making him feel as though she was so small and delicate that his large hands could practically span her waist.

He still didn't fight it when, as promised, his hands made it to second base, this time giving her what they both wanted almost immediately as his thumbs flicked across her nipples unexpectedly, causing her to gasp into his mouth.

" _Yes_...Booth, more," she half moaned, half demanded, and got exactly what she asked for as his large hands covered and squeezed, palming her breasts and letting her feel the rub of his palm against the nipple, then immediately changing up the pressure by gently rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers.

Her head fell backward as she arched her back and whimpered, pushing her breasts deeper into his hands and exposing her throat.

And only then did he mentally slam on the brakes against doing exactly whatever the hell he wanted to - because right then, all he wanted in the world was to go after that creamy throat and press hot, open-mouthed kisses up and down the entire column of it.

And that was not a mistake he intended to make twice.

But even at that point he just detoured, giving his hungry lips and tongue something better to do. Pulling one hand out from under her shirt despite her protest and using it to reach up and palm the back of her skull, he pulled her head back up to where he could claim her mouth again, reigniting the passionate, tongue-thrusting kisses and doing nothing to quench the flames between the two of them. He left that one hand splayed across the back of her head, holding her lips to him so she couldn't drop her head back and tempt him again with that flawless throat. His other hand stayed busy beneath her shirt, alternating from breast to breast, from teasing touches to the type of pressure she wanted. Encouraged by her moans, gasps, and her nails clawing into his shoulders and back, he kissed her and touched her until they were both breathless, gasping for air, neither willing to relinquish the other's mouth for the precious seconds needed to breathe.

Only when the urge to press her down into the mat beneath him and cover her body with his own became so unbearable that he knew if he didn't slow things down he was going to end up on top of her did he finally - and very reluctantly - launch a stand against the hot desire for her that had him in its grips. The fear of giving her a flashback, ever present in his mind, set clear boundaries of just exactly how far things could go.

She, of course, wasn't happy when he slowed things down and then pulled back, his hands gripping her upper arms to hold her back away from him and keep her at arm's length.

"Gotta slow down, Bones," he managed to grit out by way of explanation. As though his brain's warning hadn't quite infiltrated his body yet, his neck craned to cross the distance that his arms carefully maintained between them and he kissed her on the mouth again, briefly but hard. "Or this is gonna be over real fast because I'm gonna be standing in a cold shower - alone."

Her weight on his lap wasn't really helping matters at that point, and he shifted uncomfortably beneath her, beginning to truly wish he hadn't vetoed her demand to take his pants off.

The look in her eyes wasn't helping matters either. She looked like she was halfway considering devouring him alive.

"A cold shower isn't really necessary, Booth."

Normally he might have been a little swifter on the uptake. As it was, he chortled out a harsh clap of disbelieving laughter. "Speak for yourself, Bones."

"I do," she answered him seriously and with a tinge of confusion, not catching his figure of speech. "Always. What I meant is that there are...other methods of relieving your discomfort."

He just gaped at her, sure that he must be misunderstanding. She wasn't really suggesting...

But her hand traveling with great intent down his abdomen, making his stomach muscles clench almost spasmodically as those slender fingers traveled ever lower, told him with great certainty that she meant exactly what he was thinking. The very second her fingers made contact with his belt buckle, there was no doubt that she was suggesting that she...relieve his discomfort personally.

For that exact moment, triggering a flashback was the last thing on his mind as he released her upper arms and instead snagged both of her wrists in a near-iron grip. His voice was a hoarse, harsh gasp that sounded nothing like his normal confident tone, even to his own ears, as he desperately tried to warn her of just how close to the precipice she had managed to push him. "Don't do that, Bones. I can't..."

If it hadn't been for the high color in her cheeks, the breathless quality to her voice, and her almost alarmingly dilated pupils when she answered, he could just as easily have mistaken her reply for any of the other million times she had calmly and oh-so-bluntly tried to make him squirm. "It's highly unlikely that my removing your clothing and bringing you to orgasm, either orally or manually, would trigger a flashback for me, Booth. Nothing that happened in Albania bears any similarity to..."

"Bones, you don't get it," he cut her off, trying unsuccessfully not to focus too much on her pretty little mouth talking about 'orally bringing him to orgasm.' "That is _not_ the way this is happening. Besides, we agreed no sex tonight, first rule. And that _counts_ , Bones." Not to even mention the second rule about clothes removal, but it wasn't like his brain was exactly firing on all thrusters. He was more concerned with the fact that she had lost her mind if she thought he was going first without even being able to return the favor.

Undaunted, she used the new freedom provided by his removal of his hands from her arms to lean forward and begin tasting the oil she had spread on his chest, lightly pressing her lips to the front of his shoulder. She made no move to free her wrists - it wasn't as though his grip on them was really stopping her from her new goal of making use of her ridiculously expensive flavored oil she had already rubbed all over him.

In between kisses and licks, she continued to argue her case, only her husky tone giving away just how affected she was as well. "Fine. I did, however, veto rule five. So what comes after second base, Booth?"

" _What?"_ was the best he could manage as her tongue darted out again to taste the oil at the crook of his neck, the flat of her tongue dragging a short distance before withdrawing on a kiss. Absently he realized that his grip on her wrists was probably getting a little painful, so with great effort and trembling hands he loosened it. She had no idea what she was doing to him. His control was hanging by a thread.

"I presume there is something between second base and a house run."

" _Home_ run," he stuttered automatically. "Jeez, Bones, you vetoed it and you didn't even know what it _means_?"

And why did _that_ surprise him?

Her lips had made their way to the side of his neck, his traitorous head automatically tilting to give her better access as she licked and sucked her way across his skin. Despite his mental protests against the almost torturous contact, he thought he might cry when she stopped to answer his question.

"Yes. It seemed to be a logical deduction that you would set a needlessly conservative limit. I have also deduced from your actions that second base involved touching my breasts. So I repeat my question. What comes after second base?"

He could feel his Adam's apple bobbing like a cork in a typhoon. "Third base."

She was mercifully still, finally, her eyes locked on him. "Define third base."

His eyes slammed shut. "No."

He didn't have to look to see her frustration. "But Booth, you said that we each got one veto."

"I'll show you."

Damnit, he had to be some type of masochist, and her excited gasp didn't really help. He couldn't believe he was doing anything other than either running for the shower or flipping her beneath him and finishing them both off. It felt like he had been hard for hours.

"But we do this _my_ way, Temperance. Rule 2 stays in effect: no more clothes come off."

Her mouth opened, and somehow he knew exactly what she was going to say. One hot kiss later he had her silenced, but had almost forgotten what she had been about to tell him. Almost.

"And no, Bones, they can't just be moved out of the way. Everything stays covered this time." Releasing her wrists, he reached up with one hand and touched his name on her shirt again, almost reverently. "Third base, Booth style."

But despite his warning about keeping their clothes on, his hands quickly landed on the hem of her t-shirt, beginning to pull it upward, exposing her belly. Her breath caught, and her thighs clenched him deliciously. "Then what are you doing, Booth?"

He let his actions speak for themselves, at least at first. Copying what she had done earlier with the knot - except several inches higher - he carefully tied the shirt in a knot just below her breasts, leaving her belly exposed to him and giving him an unobstructed view of those tiny little lace panties. "I don't want all that high quality oil to go to waste, Bones. I haven't even tasted it yet. Raise up."

She didn't even question his order, immediately lifting up until she was fully upright on her knees and whimpering a little at the loss of contact.

His legs freed, he backed out from beneath her, then came to his own knees and moved behind her. Carefully, he reached up and swept her hair around so that it all fell over one shoulder, leaving the other bare for him so that he could intently watch her face from that side. She trembled, her eyes closing, but even he could see that it was from anticipation and excitement rather than any trace of fear whatsoever. Emboldened, he made his decision. She wanted third base? How big of a fool would he have to be to deny her? Reaching for the bottle of oil, he poured a little out on his hands before reaching both arms around her from behind and beginning to spread it all over her belly, pulling her slightly back against him. His breathing was shallow, his voice husky when he checked with her one last time. "Is this okay, Bones? You want me to stop?"

Leaning back into him, she groaned at the feel of his erection pressing into her lower spine from behind, as he mentally recited every saint and sport stat he had ever heard and a few he made up on the spot.

"Booth, if you stop I'm going to shoot you."

Despite his tenuous grasp on control, that brought a light chuckle - which was immediately answered by a shiver from her as she heard and felt it low and close to her ear. He couldn't resist taking that earlobe lightly between his teeth for just a moment, still careful to keep his mouth from touching her neck. He was met by another delightful shiver right on the heels of the first, increasing his confidence by the moment.

Slowly, methodically, one hand kept sliding the oil around her stomach as the other slowly began to descend, giving her plenty of time to call a halt to things. His eyes never left her face.

"Talk to me, Bones. You with me?"

"Boooooth..."

His hand stilled for a second on her hip, one finger absently tracing the lacy fabric over that hip. "You've gotta keep talking to me, Bones. This only goes on for as long as you tell me you're okay."

Her hips twisted as though trying to force his hand to where she wanted it, but he had enough of a grip that she couldn't shake it. Finally, she gave in on a frustrated sigh that was more like a whimper. "Lower, Booth. Keep going."

Slowly, his hand slid around her hip to the front of her, just above the top of her panties, as his own shallow breathing in her ear seemed to excite her even more. Her head dropped back against his shoulder, and he had to again resist the urge to press his lips to her neck. Ever so carefully, as his now-still hand on her stomach held her to him and kept her still, his lower hand brushed down across the front of her panties.

"Please, Bones...talk to me." His voice sounded as strained as hers had, fear evident in his tone. He was giving her what she had asked for - what she had practically demanded - but her reaction held the power to destroy him, his own arousal almost forgotten in the face of his concentration on her every heartbeat.

"Booth, _touch_ me!" she managed to get out, struggling against his hand on her stomach that held her still as she moved one knee farther out to widen her stance, spreading her thighs wider open to give him access.

And that trusting act of opening herself was all it took. In the next moment, his hand gently cupped her through her panties before he began rubbing her through them, delicately touching her for the very first time through the fabric, with such light pressure that it almost felt as though she was imagining it.

"More..." Her hands came up to grip the wrist of his arm that was now banded around her stomach more for her support than to keep her still.

Back and forth his fingers rubbed, tracing the outline of her through her panties. "God, Bones, you're soaked... _Jesus."_

Applying just a little more pressure, he slipped just the tip of his middle finger inside her, the fabric of her panties like a glove on that finger and just barely allowing him to push that tiny bit inside. "So perfect, Bones...so fucking hot, just like I knew you would be."

An agonized moan escaped her lips, her hips bucking against his hand at those words coming from the man she had called a prude more times than she could count. Sometimes it was nice to be wrong. "More, Booth, please...I need more..."

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, his hand left her and his body pulled away from behind her, even as his other arm continued to support her. "Can you lie down for me, Bones? Is that okay?"

She never answered verbally, but there was no hesitation as she lowered herself to her back on the mat. He went with her, moving onto his side and propping up on one elbow right beside her rather than over her, the other hand forgetting all about the oil all over his hands and brushing her hair back from her forehead. His eyes, while inky black with arousal, still radiated concern. "Do you trust me, Bones? Do you want me to stop? I have to know, baby."

Again, her thighs falling apart on a pleading groan was all the answer he needed. His fingers left her forehead, reappearing rapidly on her belly as his eyes roved over her stomach and lower. "Does it really taste like strawberries? The oil?"

He had tasted enough on her lips to know the answer to that question, but it was time to find out firsthand. His hand on her belly skated back down to let one finger trace the creases at the junction of her legs along the edges of her panties as his head leaned over her to touch his tongue to her belly.

"Booth...oh my God..." One hand reflexively reached up and grabbed his hair, and he smiled against her stomach despite the mild pain.

"Mmm. You're right, Bones. The advertiser's claims are true. It does taste like strawberries." The urge to grasp his own erection and provide himself some relief was almost overwhelming, but one hand was braced on the floor holding him up off of her, and the heady feeling of making Bones squirm with desire for him with the other one was a worthy enough substitute that he wasn't about to give it up.

He let his hand continue to rub her through her panties, resisting the urge to slip a finger beneath them. Meanwhile, his tongue laved and lapped at her belly as he leaned over her from her side, dipping the tip of it into her belly button and then dragging the flat of it along her ribcage, making her squirm and wiggle her way until she was so close to his side she was practically under him.

When he could take no more, he dragged his mouth away up to her lips, letting her taste the strawberries from _his_ tongue as he kissed her deeply. Breaking away, he held her eyes, "But you taste so much better, Bones. I want to taste all of you."

He had actually intended to keep enough control to take things a little farther - possibly even showing her just exactly how far third base could go. But she took him by surprise when with one powerful move she suddenly pushed him over on his back and landed on top of him again, this time fully stretched out over him with her legs falling to either side of his as she braced her hands on the ground by his head and returned his kiss full force.

In fact, her sudden aggressive move took him so by surprise that it snapped the last thread of his control and he knew he had to put a stop to things right then. Breaking away from her kiss, he held her face in both his hands, breathing hard. "That's it, Bones. We have to stop. _Right. Now."_

She must have been in a similar state, because he felt the fight drain out of her as her head dropped to his shoulder. "God, Booth...you're right. You should go take a shower."

A little surprised, he pulled his head sideways away from her and turned it so he could just see her. "So _now_ you suddenly understand why a cold shower is 'necessary'?" Just getting that many words out was an effort, but it was one that was richly rewarded.

She actually smiled a little as she pulled off of him and sat on her knees beside him, her face still flushed and her breath still coming hard. "No. I still maintain that there are other ways which would be more gratifying. But I also understand that you prefer to wait until a later time in order for our first time to be special. Angela suggested that I should respect your boundaries in the same way you're attempting to respect mine."

Yeah. Apparently that hadn't occurred to her when she was licking her way across his chest when he was already ready to come undone, but it's the thought that counts. The fact that she accepted his desire to make things special for her said a lot. A fact he would concentrate on _later._

"Thanks, Bones. So I'll just be in the shower. Get anything you need out of my room." Pushing to his knees and planting a quick kiss on her cheek, he got up and took off for his bedroom like his ass was on fire. A little abrupt, sure, but there were definitely extenuating circumstances.

If she had touched him again, he'd have lost it. Fortunately - or unfortunately - she didn't.

… ooo … ooo …

Okay, so he had lied about the whole cold shower thing. But at that point, he didn't think even his priest would deny him this, nor would he probably blame him for the lie. Had Bones known what he was doing, she'd have probably wanted to help, and that would have ended with her legs wrapped around his waist. Much like his living room floor, his shower was also not the first place he wanted her.

Oh, it was on the list. But not the first place.

The hot water barely started running to drown out the sound before his hand found its way to his aching erection, making him hiss as he grasped his super-sensitized member. It didn't take long, his forehead falling against the cool tiles with a soft _thud_ as he pumped himself, her name on his lips as he finished himself off. As he came back down, he realized with some wonder that it was the first time since Albania. It was actually not so surprising, considering just how closely he linked her with that particular activity; in fact, he hadn't touched himself without thinking of _her_ in longer than he could remember. And so when they had first returned from Albania, the very thought had made him feel dirty when he was so wracked with guilt over what he had done to her.

No wonder he had been ready to explode for days.

Ordinarily he would have been a gentleman and offered her the shower first. But not this time. As desperately as he had needed that time alone to take the edge off, that wasn't the only reason he had 'selfishly' jumped in front of her. Despite all they had just done, the thought of getting into a _bed_ with her again for the first time since Albania was still a scary one. He just wanted to be already in the bed when she finished _her_ shower and came to join him. At least that way it was up to her to come to him or not, and he didn't have to relive one of his least favorite moments of that entire nightmare by climbing into bed with _her_ while watching her face for signs of fear.

Wondering what the hell had possessed him to agree to her modification of his first 'rule' and let her talk him into sharing the bed instead of the couch so quickly, he somewhat nervously cleaned himself up and turned the water off. Quickly he dried off and dressed again in soft sweatpants, wondering whether to even bother with the t-shirt he had brought in with him. But eventually he decided not to make any assumptions about what she was and was not comfortable with, and put it on.

By the time he emerged and offered her the bathroom, she sat just barely perched on the very edge of his bed somewhat uncomfortably, clutching what he recognized as one of his Army t-shirts she must have found in his drawer. Spying her somewhat uneasy looking posture, he froze instantly, immediately concerned and on the alert that he had taken things too far.

"Bones? You okay?"

She looked at him a little strangely for a moment before rising and moving in his direction, toward the bathroom. "I'm fine. Why?"

He didn't move, regretting even more that he had let her talk him into things that he was beginning to fear she hadn't been ready for. "You seemed…a little tense?" Actually, she looked like she was a little petrified of sitting on his bed.

"I didn't want to get oil all over your bedspread," she informed him, stopping a step away from him and looking for all the world like she thought he had lost his mind. "Are _you_ okay?"

The sigh of relief that escaped him felt like it came all the way from his toes up, conjuring up a smile on his face along with it. "Yeah, Bones. I'm good. I just..." A nervous chuckle found its way out as he reached up to rub a hand on the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Yeah, I'm good."

At his smile, she couldn't help the answering one that came to her face, though her words were serious. "You thought that I was having a flashback?"

One shoulder rose and fell as he sighed and his smile faded. He wanted to give her a real answer. "Maybe not even a flashback. Just the whole bed thing, you know? I just don't want you to be uncomfortable. I know I keep bringing up the rules we made, and I know it was _you_ that made this one. But you're not locked into anything, Bones. If you want to change your mind, we can sleep on the couch as long as you need."

She studied him seriously for a moment before rising on tiptoes to plant a firm kiss on his cheek just as he had done to her earlier. "I'm fine, Booth. I know I don't _have_ to do anything. I _want_ to share your bed with you tonight."

He nodded, even as the automatic double check came out of his mouth. "You're sure? I mean, you're not just doing this for my back, are you?"

She wasn't really one to repeat herself. "I'll be right back. I need to take a shower. I'm still covered in strawberry massage oil."

Right. Like he had forgotten. Like he was likely to. "I'll be right here, Bones."

Heart still pounding as he wondered exactly what else the night held in store, Booth took the side of the bed closest to the door, stacked a couple pillows behind him so he could lean sitting up against the headboard, pulled the covers up loosely over his legs, and waited for her.

He had always assumed she might be the quick, to-the-point type of shower person. And maybe she actually was, but it still felt to him like it took hours for her to emerge wearing his shirt she had chosen, and presumably another pair of panties out of her bag. At least he hoped so. If she was naked underneath that shirt, he really didn't need to know about it.

Barely breathing, he attempted a smile that probably looked a little weak when he saw her. And then his smile turned to confusion as she walked right out of the room without even glancing at him. Head turned toward the door, he resisted the urge to jump up and find out what she was doing, instead listening intently. Moments later, he relaxed when he heard the sound of his clothes dryer starting, followed by the soft pad of her footsteps back toward him.

One more misconception died in his mind when she reappeared. He had thought she might balk a little about crawling into bed with him, all things considered, and he had dreaded that moment. Instead, she just walked to the side of the bed opposite him, threw the covers back, and jumped in to sit beside him.

It relaxed him until he realized he didn't have the first freaking clue what to do next. This was definitely the first time he had ever shared his bed with a woman in _this_ type of situation. He had even shared a bed with _this_ woman in the past, during their undercover stint as circus performers, but at least then he had known exactly what _was_ and _wasn't_ allowed. There hadn't been a doubt in his mind that time that he was supposed to keep his hands to himself.

But this time...

This time he had no clue.

Not even a half hour before, his hands had been all over her. Now he wasn't even sure if he should breathe on her.

Should he pull her down onto his chest and wrap his arms around her? Try to spoon her? Roll the hell over and pretend to sleep like he had done in that circus trailer?

Despite her lack of inhibition about initially diving into the bed with him, she seemed to be having the same problem. But as she sat watching him expectantly, it also quickly became evident that since he was the resident self-proclaimed people and relationship expert, she expected _him_ to have the answer to that burning question.

Great.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn't let things get heated again that night, especially not in his bed. Maybe they hadn't taken the baby steps he had intended, but even as far as they had already gone he knew that _that_ would be too much. It was a pretty huge step just being in the same bed together and nobody was freaking out. Yet.

So he was going to do what any guy in his position would do.

He was going to stall, hard, until he figured out just exactly how comfortable she was and whether or not it was all right to touch her.

Leaning back a little deeper into the pillows but remaining upright, he crossed his arms across his chest and cleared his throat. "So, Bones...you never told me what you and Gordon-Gordon talked about today."

She moved to sit cross-legged and get comfortable beside him, answering his question of what was underneath the shirt. Another pair of panties, some kind of shiny black but non-lacy fabric this time, and quite possibly skimpier than the _last_ pair. He wondered if she heard him gulp. He also wondered, since she had clearly packed an extra pair of panties, if she had also brought something to sleep in and had just preferred to get another of his shirts instead. He kind of hoped so.

"I don't intend to tell you what we discussed, Booth. As I understand the concept of therapy, it's confidential."

He hadn't expected that, and quickly rose to the argument. "Oh, come on, Bones, it wasn't really therapy. It was just...talking. You know, like with a friend. Which means you can tell me."

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning down. "I disagree. Had your objective simply been for me to talk, you could have arranged a meeting with Angela or anyone else. You specifically called Dr. Wyatt _because_ of his status as a mental health professional. Therefore, by definition, what occurred today was a confidential meeting between a psychiatrist and his patient."

Twenty minutes. That was all the relief he got between her _physically_ driving him so crazy that he had been in actual pain, to her _mentally_ driving him crazy with her stubbornness. "You're not his patient, Bones. He was just doing me a favor!"

"I _am_ his patient."

It actually took that a minute to sink in, and he thought his heart would stop at the sudden surge of hope that tore through him. Could she possibly mean...had Gordon-Gordon done the impossible?

"No, you're...wait. What are you talking about? What do you mean you _are_ his patient?"

She dropped her bombshell so casually that he wondered if she truly didn't _know_ just exactly what kind of gift she was giving him. "Despite the fact that he is a psychiatrist, Dr. Wyatt can, at times, be quite logical. I find that conversation with him can be quite stimulating and thought provoking. Although he is no longer taking patients, he agreed to convince Sweets to limit his counseling sessions with me to the minimum required to restore my field privileges, and only related to work. In return, I have agreed to meet with Dr. Wyatt twice a week over a plate of unhealthy potatoes."

Booth's eyes were huge. "Bones, you...that's..." He was dangerously close to just grabbing her, pulling her on top of him, and kissing her until both of their lungs burst.

Raising an eyebrow, she continued with a slightly devious look on her face. "I must admit that my decision was somewhat influenced by Dr. Wyatt's promise to forcefully coerce Dr. Sweets to sign off on transferring me to him. I will allow Sweets to perform his pointless exam for purposes of restoring my FBI field privileges, but will only discuss work-related issues with him. Dr. Wyatt will handle all personal aspects of my therapy. He has assured me that Sweets has no choice but to agree."

Just hearing the words 'my therapy' come out of her mouth was amazing, but he wasn't about to push his luck by teasing her. The final cloud had lifted: she was going to get help, and she was going to get it from someone Booth fully trusted. From _two_ people Booth fully trusted, because it sounded like Gordon-Gordon had even managed to convince her to keep meeting with Sweets as well. Not to mention that he had artfully just given them an out from discussing their personal relationship with someone FBI affiliated.

Along with that last nagging worry about her getting the help he needed, his awkwardness also disappeared. "Jeez, Bones. What are we doing? Come here."

With a grin a mile wide on his face, he slid down and rearranged the pillows so he could flop down on his back, holding out his arms to her. She went willingly, and soon her head was pillowed on his chest, his heartbeat thumping in her ears. His arms immediately closed around her, pulling her slightly upward so that he could reach to drop a kiss on her head, loving the way her arm draped casually but snugly over him and she threw a leg over in between his. "So you're not taking a leave of absence anymore?"

He felt her smile as she turned her face slightly into his chest in what seemed suspiciously like embarrassment. "No. Dr. Wyatt pointed out how illogical that decision would be."

She and Parker were still Booth's favorite people in the world, but Gordon-Gordon was quickly beginning to rank a very close third. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes. As I stated, he can be extremely rational. His intelligence is sadly wasted in the field of psychology."

That made him smile. At least some things never changed. Somehow, he wasn't even worried about the answer to his next question. "So you're not really mad at me?"

"No. Not anymore."

He would have loved to know what _that_ meant, but decided he had pushed his luck enough. Apparently Gordon-Gordon - or maybe Angela - had taken care of that too. God bless them both.

"You know what, Bones?" He gave her a squeeze for good measure. "I think we're gonna be okay."

Her only reply was a broad yawn. Clearly, torturing one's partner was extremely tiring.

He didn't care. Her presence in his arms was answer enough. "I love you, Bones. And thank you."

"You're welcome. Perhaps sleeping in your own bed will prevent the pain from returning. Night, Booth."

She thought he was thanking her for fixing his back? Well he was grateful for that too, but it wasn't even in the top 10 of things he could thank her for. He didn't even worry anymore about the fact that she didn't always reply to his proclamations of love with one of her own. Just so long as she kept showing him, he'd be a happy man.

"Night, Bones. And don't go anywhere tomorrow morning. I'm going to make you the best breakfast you've ever had - the Booth special."

He could practically feel her nose wrinkling. "Does the Booth special consist almost entirely of large quantities of greasy, fried meat?"

"You better believe it, baby," he teased. "But not tomorrow. Tomorrow I'm making you the best eggs in all of D.C."

"There's no way to empirically confirm a statement like..."

"Bones?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to sleep."

… ooo … ooo … ooo

It was a little disconcerting the next morning to wake up alone, but he didn't automatically panic. Mostly he was just disappointed that they hadn't woken up wound all around each other the way he had hoped. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked around the room. She hadn't left. For the first time, he was fairly confident of it.

"Bones?" he called, more curiously than nervously.

Almost immediately she walked back in, and the first thing he noticed was that she had changed clothes. Rather intriguingly so. His eyebrow going up, he couldn't help the grin that crossed his face. "I wondered what you put in the dryer last night."

She shrugged as though it was no big deal. "I find that I prefer this shirt. I washed out the oil by hand in the shower last night, and then placed it in the dryer."

He was trying not to look like a cocky bastard. He really was. "And you just had to jump out of bed at..." He glanced over at the clock. "...at six in the morning to put it back on? Y'know, if you like having my name on you that much, Bones, you could just marry me."

Ignoring him completely, which was clearly going to be her M.O. when he got too full of himself, she shut him up by climbing back into bed, landing right on top of him and making him gasp by kissing the hell out of him. Pulling back all too quickly, she gave her own smirk at his dazed expression. "No. I 'jumped' out of bed at six in the morning to brush my teeth so I could do _that._ "

Before he even knew what was happening, she had retreated again. "I don't want to be late for work, Booth. You should get started on the Booth special."

He stayed still for another few moments watching the tantalizing sway of her hips as she left his bedroom wearing nothing but his 'Booth' shirt from the night before and those teeny-tiny little panties, his ears immediately picking up on the fact that she had entered his kitchen and was probably making coffee. Half naked.

Fine. If she intended to walk around like that and drive him to distraction, he had picked up on enough the night before to have some idea how to return the favor. Not to mention, it was suddenly burning up in his apartment. Stripping his t-shirt, he traded in his soft sweatpants for a pair of jeans, not even bothering to snap the top snap.

Time to make breakfast. Maybe.

… ooo … ooo …

Twenty-five minutes and a few head-spinning, groping, teasing kisses later, Booth was concentrating hard on impressing Bones with his formidable culinary skills by getting _everything_ just perfect in her eggs - well, on that and on the fascinating way that his shirt swirled and teased around the tops of her thighs every time she moved while she worked at setting his table, and especially when she leaned over - when his concentration was suddenly and rudely broken by insistent pounding on his front door. Whoever was on the other side meant either for him to open the door or they meant to break it down.

Sweets could call it hypervigilance if he wanted to. As far as Booth was concerned, grabbing Brennan's arm to stop her automatic and extremely maddening march to the door where she probably intended to fling it wide without so much as checking the peephole was just as natural to him as breathing and twice as logical. When the pounding stopped just a moment later before he could even manage to herd her behind him and move toward his door, the sudden following sound of his doorknob being rattled and yanked caused his hair to stand on end. Instantly, his hand tightened its grasp on her arm and practically yanked her behind him before letting go. His next two actions were equally automatic: ordering her in no uncertain terms to stay right where she was, and filling his hand with his weapon in one lightning-fast movement from the table where it lay.

She, of course, ignored him, staying right on his heels as he stealthily entered his living room and adopted a position that provided him a clear line on the door along with some cover. "I can be of assistance, Booth," she stage-whispered.

Dressed like that, the only thing she could be of assistance with was helping land him in prison for the rest of his life when he unloaded his entire clip into a possibly unarmed intruder just because the bastard got a look at her and even _looked_ like he might be getting any ideas about coming back to find her later. And what did she plan to do, for that matter? Go one on one with some burglar who was probably armed anyway, while wearing just a t-shirt and skimpy little panties that no other man on the face of the planet had the right to even know existed? Um, no thanks. His weapon would be empty and the guy would be bleeding out on the floor, armed or not, before she got within a foot of him. No, he could react much more sanely without having to worry about her _or_ her state of dress.

She was still walking directly behind him almost touching him. Fully aware of her exact location, he never took his eyes or his weapon off the door, his ears attuned to the new sound of someone trying to pick his lock. The sound made his blood run cold with the thought of something happening to her. "Go to my bedroom, Bones, and lock the door," he ordered in a low voice. "Then don't go near it again for anybody but me."

"But Booth..."

His voice was so hard it was almost cold. "There's a gun in the top of my closet, ammo's in my sock drawer."

"Why do you keep your ammunition..."

" _Go,_ Temperance. _Now."_ He hadn't really intended to grit his teeth and snarl at her, but the last thing he wanted was her there half-naked at that moment. He could be utterly amazed _later_ that, after her eyes widened slightly, she actually obeyed without further question. He could apologize for yelling at her later, too. At the moment, he was just too relieved to have her out of the way, mostly because the doorknob was already turning in the hand of whoever had just quickly succeeded in picking his high-security locks, which gave him the even uneasier feeling that his intruder was somebody who knew what they were doing.

He actually flicked his eyes away from the door for the half-second he needed to tell him that she was out of sight, although he was pretty damn sure she hadn't fully done as instructed. He'd been listening intently for the dual clicks of his bedroom door shutting and locking, and he had heard neither yet.

Whoever was breaking in obviously wasn't as interested in stealth as Booth was at the moment. That became clear when, instead of slowly pushing the door open, they threw it back in one rapid motion.

"Freeze!" Booth shouted, bringing his weapon to bear on the form before him. "Federal agent. I'm armed, and I will fire."

… ooo … ooo … ooo

"Would you put that thing down?" came the irritated reply from Booth's 'burglar,' whose voice he recognized instantly.

Irritated.

The man had the audacity to sound _irritated_.

At _him._

Of all the...

God, at least he knew where she got it.

"Max?"

Disbelief emanated from every pore in Booth's body.

"If you're here, why didn't you answer your door, Booth? Or your phone?" Brennan's father demanded impatiently.

Almost bug-eyed, Booth gave a humorless laugh of complete disbelief.

Irritation _and_ impatience. Un-freaking-believable.

"Why didn't I... are you _serious_? Why the hell are you _breaking into my house_ , Max _?"_

Now he knew where she got _that_ , too. What, was breaking into his home some kind of Brennan family rite of passage? When could he be expecting to come home and find Russ lounging in his recliner?

"I'm worried about Temperance," the older man supplied, the source of his irritation _and_ impatience becoming a little more understandable. If there was one thing Booth understood...

"I wasn't able to get her on the phone all night, so I went to her apartment this morning. Her car's there, Booth, but she's gone and still not answering her phone. When I couldn't get you either, I got worried about both of you. Then you didn't answer your door even though _your_ car's here too, so I thought I'd have a look around. I'm glad _you're_ all right, at least. Now where is my daughter? Have you talked to her?"

Booth didn't even get a chance to process all of that and make the decision whether to either go ahead and unload his clip into the 'intruder' after all or to go the rather unique route of being a little touched that Max actually worried about him too - which was probably the only useful reaction anyway, because what the hell use was there in being mad at a Brennan for acting like a Brennan? It's not like they were likely to change, even if you shot them. But before he could even make that monumental decision, he was presented with something much more horrifying than the situation he already had on his hands.

"Hi, Dad."

He didn't want to look. He really didn't. But like a train wreck, his eyes were pulled to what he knew must surely be there: Bones, emerging from the direction of what Max was sure to figure out was _his_ _goddamn bedroom,_ without one single more stitch of clothing than she had worn before; as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to be walking out of _his goddamn bedroom_ first thing in the morning, looking like _that,_ while her _dad_ was there to see it.

God help him. Because there was only one conclusion anybody could reach from her prancing around in nothing more than panties and a shirt with his name blaring across her chest and back, even when that shirt was long enough to fully cover her so that modesty wasn't an issue. The entire situation just screamed _sex._ Suddenly, Booth was even more aware of his own partial state of undress.

Max's eyes lit up in relief. "Hi, Sweetheart! There you are!"

Not exactly the reaction Booth had expected, but maybe Max just hadn't noticed her clothing yet. Or maybe he was in some strange form of denial. Or maybe he just _always_ looked all cheerful before he gutted somebody and performed a fiery crucifixion on a roof.

Eyes flicking back and forth between the two, Booth's heart thudded in panic. This was not a problem they needed. One thing he was pretty certain of about long-term relationships is that they were a hell of a lot easier when your significant other's family members weren't plotting your demise. He wanted _everything_ there was to have with her, including a good relationship with her family. For both of their sakes.

"Sir, I know what this looks like," he stammered, instantly forgetting his own irritation at Max for breaking into his house and focusing instead on the fact that Max _had_ to be thinking it was way too soon after what he knew Booth had done in Albania. _Max_. The man who had threatened to make his body unfindable if he ever stepped out of line and hurt her. The man who might even be able to find a way to carry that threat out. The man who probably had a right to after seeing _this_ , the more Booth thought about it. And how the hell was he going to finish that thought anyway? Pointing his finger at Brennan and saying it was _her_ idea - even though that was true - would only make matters worse.

But as if being ignored by one Brennan wasn't maddening enough, now he was being ignored by _two_ as they carried on their own conversation like two of the three people in that room weren't _half-dressed._

"I apologize if I worried you, Dad. I took a cab here last night so Booth and I could simply ride to work together this morning, and I turned my phone off when I got here. I...forgot to check it this morning as well when Booth and I woke up." Apparently feeling the need to justify her forgetfulness, she threw in the last part almost defensively: "We had a very late night."

Booth cringed, his eyes squeezing shut as he wished that he was pretty much anywhere else... _Thanks, Bones. That really didn't make it sound any better._

"Max, listen...I can explain what's going on here."

Max looked more amused at Booth's predicament than anything as he finally acknowledged Booth again enough to hold up a hand. "I'd really rather you didn't, son."

"No, I..." How the hell do you say, _'I'm_ _sleeping_ _with your daughter but not really_ _sleeping with your daughter, even though I really, really want to?' _More specifically, how do you put that delicately to a guy who probably keeps a spare gas can in his trunk for just such an occasion? It wasn't so much that he was afraid he couldn't take Max in a fair fight. It was just that Bones probably wasn't going to like it very much when he had to shoot her father.

He didn't get a chance to finish that sentence anyway. Max was talking to his daughter again, as though Booth wasn't even in the room.

"When the police wouldn't tell me why they were knocking on your door this morning, sweetheart, I thought the worst."

Booth's head shot up from where he had been wearily scrubbing his hands over his face, his eyes going straight to Bones as he went utterly still. Her eyes locked onto him as well. "The police?" Booth repeated quietly, seriously.

"I...don't know," she answered Booth's unspoken question. "Perhaps they were there to return my property from evidence? They still have the clothes I borrowed from you that the hospital removed."

Max's didn't look any more at ease with that answer than Booth. "They didn't have anything with them. I watched the place until they left and then had a look around. When I didn't find anything, that's why I came over here. Sorry for the whole breaking in thing, honey. I hope I didn't scare you, but like I told Booth I was beginning to think something had happened to both of you."

"It's not a problem," she replied instantly. "Clearly, we're both unharmed. I'll contact the police station later to inquire about the purpose of their visit."

Booth was still too concerned with what the police wanted with his partner to even consider the absolutely mind-bending irony that Max was apologizing to _her_ for breaking into _his house_ and that she accepted it just as smoothly _._

But he didn't get too long to consider it before the next crisis hit him, demanding his _immediate_ attention.

"You should stay and have some eggs, Dad. Booth cooked them."

 _What?_

And there it was...something even more horrifying than the _last_ five minutes. Was she seriously inviting Max to _stay for breakfast?_ Exactly what had he done to piss off fate _this_ week? And he'd be willing to put money on the fact that she thought the three of them should just sit down for a leisurely breakfast dressed just as they were.

"They smell wonderful, honey. But I don't want to intrude."

 _Thank God. A Brennan with a clue._ But apparently that was one trait he hadn't passed down.

"Don't be ridiculous. Booth doesn't mind. He's an excellent host."

Probably not the best time to still have his gun in his hand; he wasn't sure who he wanted to shoot the most. Staying behind to close his door, he leaned his head against it for a minute as his one very-wanted guest made her way back into his kitchen like she owned the place, with his very _un-_ wanted guest in tow. "Sit down, Dad," he heard. "Booth will make you some eggs."

His eyes rolled heavenward in near accusation for a moment before he began warily making his way back into the kitchen, grabbing his quickly discarded dress shirt from the night before off the living room floor - one more lovely little piece of evidence Max was certain to have noticed, along with the nice oil-stained mat, bottle of massage oil, oh, and her _freaking tank top and bra. Jesus._

Except for his own shirt, he quickly and unceremoniously shoved every bit of the rest of it under the couch, threw her bag-o'-torture with her skirt and blouse sticking out the top of it behind the recliner out of sight, and then hastily threw on his shirt. He buttoned a couple buttons and snapped his jeans, keeping one eye trained on the kitchen at his partner and the man who was either going to be his father-in-law one day or his murderer. Seeing his chance when Max chose a kitchen chair facing away from him, he sped up his pace to the kitchen doorway and started trying to catch Bones' eye behind her father's back.

"Bones!" He mouthed to her, gesturing frantically but making no sound as she looked at him over her father's head. Her expression as she finished making coffee and put a cup in front of Max made it pretty clear she thought he had taken complete leave of his senses. "Go put some _clothes on!"_ he finished mouthing desperately, pointing urgently out of the room.

"Why, Booth?" she answered his silent statement out loud, giving Booth the urge to beat his head against the doorframe. "I'm covered, _and_ I can think of no reason to change my clothes at this point. My father is certainly aware by now that I spent the night here, and I am a grown woman."

Mortified, he stood in the doorway, one hand braced high on each side - a support which he dramatically leaned into, dropping his head. As if he didn't look guilty enough, now Max knew he was trying to hide the evidence. "It's a _respect_ thing, Bones."

Eyes closed and teeth gritted, he gave up on the obviously hopeless half of the Brennan pair, and tried his luck with the other.

"Max, look...I - I love Temperance."

Twisting in his chair, Max observed Booth with even more amusement at his old-fashioned ways. "You told me that already."

"He did?" This from Brennan, whose brow wrinkled in a way that suggested she wasn't entirely comfortable with the two of them discussing her behind her back like she was some type of property. "When?"

Max managed to look impatient. "Are you going to make me some eggs or not? I don't have all day, Booth."

Good thing he had put that gun down when he was buttoning his shirt.

"I wouldn't hurt her, Max, or take advantage of her. I know what you have to be thinking, but nothing happened here last night."

"Yes, it did," Brennan chimed in right on cue, until she saw the helplessly horrified look Booth flashed her. "Oh. You're referring to actual sexual intercourse. In that case, no. That did not happen."

Booth had never thought he'd actually consider gagging her, but the prospect was becoming very tempting. "Max, my intentions toward your daughter..."

"Your _intentions_ , Booth, are none of my father's business," Brennan broke in emphatically. "His opinions have no bearing on my decisions. I'm not a child."

"Cut him some slack, honey," Max broke in, eyes twinkling. "Booth's trying to do the right thing by your old man. I get that. I respect that." Those final three words were directed more toward Booth before he turned his eyes back to Brennan. "But it's not necessary. I just want _you_ to be happy. If Booth makes you happy, honey, then I'm happy."

"Aww, thanks, Dad," she smiled at him, leaving Booth feeling more by the second like he had been dropped headlong into some bizarre, alternate Brennan-universe. Why did she only get mushy like that with felons, psychos, and other decidedly creepy people from her past? The entire conversation was almost surreal.

But proving that at least some things still made sense in whatever dimension he had entered, she still couldn't resist one final parting shot:

"It would, however, still not be your decision even if he didn't."

It took a second for Booth to take that last statement and draw the inference...

'Even if he didn't' make her happy...

Which could only mean that...

He did.

Suddenly, he didn't care if Max _did_ want to burn him on the roof. He'd die a happy man.

Quickly turning his back before either of them could see the grin that was splitting his face and possibly mistake it to mean that he wanted to host more Brennan-family breakfasts in the future, he made his way to his stove. "How you like your eggs, Max?"

… ooo … ooo …

Thirty minutes later, Bones had said her goodbyes to her dad, had _finally_ left the room to go get dressed, and Booth was shaking Max's hand at the door.

He should have seen it coming, but it still caught him by surprise when the older man's hand suddenly tightened down in a near bone-crushing grip. For an old guy, he was still surprisingly strong. "I'm happy for you both, Booth, but my promise still stands. If you ever hurt her, don't think I won't find you."

Booth stayed still, accepting the warning and making no move to free himself or retaliate. "You don't have to worry about that, Max. I'd do anything to keep her safe."

"I know." Max hadn't let up at all. "But it bears repeating."

Finally releasing him, Max clapped him on the shoulder as he turned to go. "I'll have to come by for breakfast more often. You make a damn good poached egg, son. I may just start having breakfast here."

Max didn't see Booth's head fall against the door in consternation when it finally closed behind him and then smack into it a couple more times for good measure; but then Booth didn't see the twinkle in the older man's eyes that said he had intended to produce that exact reaction, either.

… ooo … ooo …

He must have worked rapidly and possibly even bribed the florist _and_ the delivery person. Those were her first thoughts when she re-entered her office just a couple hours later from her first trip of the day to bone storage, only to find _another_ vase on her desk.

Her lips twitched, however, when she noticed that instead of the _three_ daffodils she had rather been expecting, a full 18 of the 2 dozen flowers were now daffodils.

She thought she might finally be beginning to understand Booth's perplexing behavior in slowly substituting the daisies with daffodils. Clearly, the increasing number of daffodils was a metaphor for the changing status of their relationship from something-in-between to romantic partners and lovers.

But she still wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of guessing out loud, considering his obstinance in refusing to simply state his intentions clearly. She just wasn't going to do it. No matter _how_ satisfied she felt with herself for having propelled them from a 2-daffodil relationship to an 18-daffodil relationship in one night. She was quite certain that hadn't been his original plan, just as she was certain that Booth almost certainly put a greater emphasis on the emotional part of that transition than he did on the physical.

She actually checked for a card this time, remembering the miscommunication that had ensued last time when she failed to do so. There was none, which left her slightly disappointed for just a moment before she dismissed that feeling as silly and turned her attention back to her work.

… ooo … ooo …

Whistling to himself, Booth made his way through traffic to pick up his partner for lunch. She didn't _know_ it yet, but she was definitely having lunch with him. After the night before, he simply couldn't wait until that night to see her again. And he had learned a long time ago that just boldly pulling her lab coat right off her shoulders and dragging her out the door was pretty effective, no matter how much she verbally protested.

He was halfway to the Jeffersonian, happily wondering if she had found the arrangement of flowers that indicated he was clinging to 'something-in-between' by little more than a thread, when his cell phone rang.

"Booth," he answered, not even checking his caller ID.

"Please, please tell me you're on the way here," came the very, very hushed voice of Camille Saroyan on the other end of the line, in a tone that suddenly had his heart in his throat and his foot mashing down harder on the accelerator. He could hear some type of disturbance in the background - angry voices, including one that he clearly identified as Angela's.

"Cam? I'm halfway there. What's going on?"

"Just...drive faster."

Had Cam just _hung the hell up on him?_ Tossing his phone into the seat beside him, he gritted his teeth and hit the siren.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Booth barreled around the corner as he entered the Jeffersonian, following the angry voices, wondering why the hell security was just standing around. His weapon had already been in his hand since he abandoned the SUV in the closest possible place to an entrance, not really concerned at the moment about tow-away zones or fire lanes. His gun was still in his hand when he came crashing onto the scene - a fact which caught the immediate attention of the young police officer who seemed to be the focal point in the room and who was surrounded by a furious Angela, a strangely stoic-looking Brennan, a concerned Hodgins who couldn't take his eyes off Angela, and a former New York coroner who had never looked so glad to see Booth even when they were dating.

The cop spun around at the sudden arrival of somebody pointing a gun. His hand immediately went to his weapon and prepared to draw, so Booth pulled his own gun up and away immediately, his eyes on Bones. The last thing he wanted was for her to do anything stupid in an attempt to protect him - anything like having a flashback to that hallway in Albania and trying to make a grab for the officer's weapon if she saw it pointed at _him_. Tension and emotion practically crackled in the air around the small crowd, and he could see just how quickly the situation could escalate into something far worse than whatever-the-fuck it already was.

"Federal Agent," he identified himself as he holstered his weapon and displayed his badge, already eyeing the handcuffs in the officer's hand. "What's going on?"

The officer, who had 'first solo assignment rookie' written all over him and was probably wondering just what he had gotten himself into, never had a chance against Angela. "It's a _lie_ , Booth. That guy put his hands on Bren first. It was self-defense!"

" _Whoa_...what guy? _This_ guy?"

 _'Oh dear God,'_ he thought, after common sense prevailed and squelched his initial impulse to beat the shit out of anybody, even a cop, who dared touch her. _'Just please don't let her have assaulted an officer. Caroline's gonna kill us both.'_

Booth had gotten close enough by then for the officer to inspect his badge. "Agent Booth? I'm Officer Swarovski. In answer to your question, Ms. Brennan is under arrest for battery at the Hot Spot nightclub last weekend. She broke a man's arm. The victim also alleges that Ms. Brennan has been continually harassing him since that time by phone and in person, threatening his life."

"None of that is true, Booth," Brennan piped up in her matter-of-fact way, not looking the least bit worried, and he knew almost painfully what she was thinking: that if she hadn't done it, she would simply not be arrested for it. "I did not apply sufficient force to break his arm, and I don't know his name, telephone number or address. I have never contacted him."

"She also broke his nose," the officer finished.

Booth's eyes flicked back and forth between the officer and Brennan as they took turns talking, dark eyes alert to every nuance.

"That was self-defense, when he attempted to strike me. I have a witness. Angela was there." Bones was so unemotional, even for her, that it was almost eerie.

Angela was unable to remain quiet any longer. "This is ridiculous, Booth! The jerk must have got clued in to who she is and what she's worth, and now he wants a piece of the pie."

"Pie?" Brennan looked truly confused by that one. "I don't have any pie. I don't like my fruit cooked." Turning and motioning to Booth, she helpfully threw in one further clarifying point for the officer's benefit: "Booth loves pie."

"Money, Bones," Booth softly translated. "The guy thinks he can get some money out of you this way. It's not going to work. If you say you didn't break his arm, we can prove that pretty easily."

The officer wasn't letting things go that easily. "The victim has provided medical documentation of his injuries, and we have security tapes from the club which clearly show that the initial attack in which she broke the victim's arm was unprovoked."

"Good! Then your tapes show that he put his hands on _her first_!" Angela exploded, taking a step in the officer's direction that could be construed as mildly threatening. _"She's_ the victim here!"

He turned to her immediately, one hand going to rest on the pepper spray on his belt and unsnap the cover. "Ma'am, if you continue to interfere I'm going to arrest you as well, for disorderly conduct."

"Well you may as well arrest me too then, because if you touch _her, I'm_ going to get disorderly." This from Hodgins, who had come up to stand directly behind Angela and throw his two cents in, arms crossed as he drew himself up to his full height.

"All right, everybody STOP," Booth thundered, bringing every eye obediently to him, even the cop. Having that advantage for a moment, he turned his full attention to the officer. "Okay, now just slow down here a minute. This woman is part of an ongoing federal investigation - _my_ investigation - so I'd appreciate the courtesy of a full explanation here."

Apparently he had intimidated everybody but Brennan, who just couldn't stay quiet. "I'm suspended, Booth. I'm not part of any..."

He could explode later. At that moment, calm was the only thing that was going to save any of them, no matter how furious he was on the inside at what was happening to her. "Bon- Dr. Brennan, could you _please_ just be quiet for _one minute_?"

Officer Swarovski, clearly eager to be a part of all that inter-agency cooperation he had heard so much about in training, was glad to offer that much of a courtesy - especially to the one picture of calm and sanity in the entire crazy situation. "I have a warrant for her arrest. The victim wishes to press charges. Ms. Brennan was..."

" _Dr._ Brennan," he got in at least triplicate.

"She was identified by multiple witnesses from the scene, several of whom recognized and could identify her by name. The victim fears for his life due to the alleged threats."

"Oh, that is such bullshit," Angela piped back up. At Booth's glare she quieted back down, but crossed her arms in clear displeasure as the officer continued speaking.

"Ms. Brennan - _Dr._ Brennan called the station this morning to turn herself in."

Bones shook her head to deny that. "That's not true either, Booth. I called to find out why the police visited my apartment this morning. They asked where I was and I told them I was here." She gave a clearly derisive look to the officer. "Your support staff should be better trained. The operator was extremely unhelpful and refused to tell me the purpose of the visit."

Explanations out of the way, the officer clearly intended to finish making his arrest. Calm up until that point, Brennan tensed when he grabbed her first arm and put the cuff on her, her eyes going straight to Booth and making him feel more helpless than he could ever remember feeling.

"You have the right to remain silent," the officer began the Miranda warning, the rest of his words lost to the other occupants of the room.

"Booth!" Angela hissed. "Do something!"

Cam, who had already come up to stand directly beside him, placed a restraining hand on his arm. "That's bad advice, Seeley. He's got a warrant. You know there's not even going to be enough for probable cause on the stalking nonsense, so she's looking at a simple battery charge - she'll most likely get booked and released in a few hours. Follow her to the station. Call Caroline. Don't do anything that's going to get you fired."

Booth barely heard either of them. He was watching the way Brennan winced when the cuff tightened up on her injured hand, without the protection of the soft-cast that she must not have retrieved from his living room floor that morning. _Goddamnit._ That was _twice_ now in his life that he'd had to stand by and watch a careless cop hurt her with a handcuff on an injured hand, the first being when she was arrested in New Orleans before his very eyes. It had stabbed him in the heart even then. This time it was almost his undoing.

What _was_ his undoing was the way her whole body went stiff as a board when her arms were pulled behind her and she heard the unmistakable sound of the second cuff locking into place on her uninjured wrist as the officer kept rattling off her rights. Her eyes slammed shut and she inhaled sharply, and Booth, Angela, and even Cam figured out immediately that she wasn't in the room with them anymore.

"A flashback," Angela breathed. "Oh my God."

"Bones?" Booth attempted, almost afraid to move or speak for fear that he might make it worse; it was the constant danger that came with the knowledge that many of her flashbacks were about him.

She never answered. Eyes squeezed shut, biting her lip, it was clear that she was fighting with every ounce of mental strength she possessed to keep the flashback from taking complete control of her - and that she was losing. When a single tear squeezed out from behind her lashes and began tracking down her cheek and he still couldn't see her eyes behind her clenched lids, Booth had had more than enough. All he could think about was her telling him how she had been handcuffed to a bed while they tried to hook her on drugs that would have stolen her brilliant mind from him forever.

His handcuff key was in his hands and he moved behind her so fast that even the officer standing right there would have been hard pressed to say how he got there as he inserted himself between them. Gently, Booth's hand came into contact with hers as he reached to lightly grasp her cuffed wrist to begin unlocking the cuffs from her.

"Dr. Brennan is an expert witness in an open federal murder case, and it's come to the Bureau's attention that her life could be in danger. I'm here to take her into protective federal custody."

When the officer opened his mouth to protest, Booth sensed it without ever taking his eyes from Brennan.

"I'll bring her to the station myself right now to honor your warrant, but she's not leaving _my_ custody or _my_ sight unless you can make adequate arrangements for her protection. And I'll be the one to decide what's adequate." He left out the fact that the only acceptable definition of 'adequate' was himself by her side. "If you want to follow in your cruiser or even ride along with me that's fine, but I'm asking for the police department's cooperation. Or if you prefer, I can have Deputy Director Cullen of the F.B.I. give your chief a call to make arrangements for interagency cooperation."

As he spoke with such authority to the officer, by contrast his hands on _her_ were infinitely tender as he gently held her wrist in his hand, inserted the key and removed the cuff from her injured hand first. As she yanked that arm free almost violently, she shuddered, letting him know that the worst wasn't entirely over. First letting her still-confined hand fall back around from behind her back to her side, he then very carefully and gently lifted that wrist in one hand so he could access the lock, letting two of his fingers snake up against her palm.

Nothing had ever been more reassuring to him than the way her fingers clasped onto his like a lifeline. She knew he was there and who he was, despite her still clenched eyes and the pained expression on her face. And she was turning _to_ him instead of running _away_ from him.

Quickly and painstakingly gently, he removed the other cuff as well, holding the removed cuffs back out to the officer but never taking his eyes off of his partner's face, and certainly not pulling his other hand out of the death grip she had on him.

He didn't really care about the fact that the officer had probably figured out by then that the nature of their relationship was a hell of a lot more personal than Booth had let on, and probably even that most of what he had said was utter bullshit. He also didn't care that the officer was looking at Bones a little strangely as she still refused to open her eyes, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her and mentally calculating just how many forms he'd have to fill out when his simple arrest turned into a mental institution evaluation and commitment if he insisted on retaining custody himself.

To Booth, all that mattered at that exact moment was having her out of those damn cuffs.

The cop cleared his throat, not really wanting to get on the wrong side of the feds and this fed in particular. "That won't be necessary, sir. Just bring her down to the station and I'll follow in my cruiser."

Booth spared him only a terse nod and a quick description of where he was parked, a clear dismissal. Next, his attention turned to Brennan's best friend.

"Angela, you were there that night so you're coming with us. Get her coat." His words were directed at the artist, but his eyes never left the forensic anthropologist.

Angela only continued to stare for a moment before shaking herself out of it. "Of course. I'll be right back."

"Cam, call Caroline Julian and tell her what happened. Tell her I'll owe her forever if she can meet me at the police station 20 minutes ago." Again, he never took his eyes off Brennan.

"She'll probably take you up on that, Booth," Cam warned wryly. "Are you sure you want to sell your soul over a simple battery charge?"

"Don't care. Just tell her I need her."

Not really worried about who was watching while they waited for Angela, Booth brought his free hand up to warmly sandwich Brennan's hand that still desperately grasped his other one, not daring touch her in any other way when he could feel the tension that still thrummed through her so violently it felt like she might break at any moment.

Vaguely and with a flash of gratitude, he registered Cam's voice in the background authoritatively clearing the area, rebuking and sending all the curious bystanders back to their work and thereby removing their stares from Bones.

When he spoke, Booth's voice was gentle in a way Cam knew _she_ had never heard from him before, as he shut out the rest of the world and leaned in close to talk to Brennan. "Bones? I need you to open your eyes. Look at me, please."

She gripped his fingers a little tighter, but just continued to stand stock still, another tear squeezing out from beneath her lashes as her mind and body both fought for dominance over the memories caused by the sound and feel of those cuffs locking onto her wrists. It scared the hell out of him that she might be retreating inside herself in response to such a stark reminder of trauma, so he stepped up his efforts, trying to disguise the fear in his voice.

"Bones! It's over. You're safe here in the lab, with me. We're _not there_ , baby."

Still nothing, and his desperation ramped up one notch further, his grip on her hand growing tighter. "Come _on_ , sweetheart, please _..._ you're scaring me."

He was right on the verge of ordering somebody to call Sweets, inwardly still lamenting the fact that it was Sweets who had talked her out of her flashback in the hospital when he had failed, and it looked like he _still_ couldn't reach her. But in the next moment he got redemption on that topic as she opened her eyes and focused in his general direction.

When he saw how tired and how defeated she looked, like it had taken every ounce of energy she had to fight so hard, his heart sank and he almost wished he hadn't made her open her eyes. She had fought it and avoided falling completely apart in the middle of the Jeffersonian, but it had clearly taken a toll.

Angela had reappeared with the coat by then, but wouldn't have interrupted the scene in front of her for anything. Never had she seen someone so focused on another person before; never had she personally seen Booth's heart completely in his eyes before, and the effect was breathtaking.

And then there was also the fact that she wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing her best friend getting booked for battery, either, when she greatly suspected that it was her own fault for taking her to that club in the first place.

Now that Brennan's eyes were open, Booth brought up one hand to place it against her face, trying to get her focus on him. "Bones, are you okay? _Talk_ to me."

"I'm fine." Her voice was hoarse, like she had been too long without water, and she still didn't meet his eyes.

As if he sensed her presence, Booth looked up and reached for Brennan's coat from Angela, their concerned eyes meeting for a moment. Carefully, Booth draped the coat over Brennan's shoulders before moving to her side and wrapping an arm tight around her shoulders. "Come on, Bones. We've gotta go down to the police station, okay?"

"I'm fine, Booth." Her voice was stronger that time, reassuring him that she was coming out of it. Less reassuring was the fact that she leaned into him so hard that he was practically supporting her. If he hadn't been afraid it would humiliate her, he'd have picked her up and carried her. But he knew that even in her current state, she'd prefer to walk out on her own power or at least the illusion of her own power. And so he readjusted his hold to slip his arm around her waist beneath her coat and support her even more, taking as much of her weight as he could while still leaving her - just barely - on her feet.

When he got her back to his apartment later, however, it was going to be a different story. If she still looked like that, he was carrying her all the way from his SUV to his bed and then tucking her in, and he wasn't hearing any argument about it.

 **…** **ooo … ooo …**

Despite Booth's attempts to coax a response from her as he led her toward his truck, Brennan was completely silent after her two hoarse reassurances to Booth in the lab that she was - a highly debatable description that he could really learn to hate - 'fine.'

Finally, they made it to the SUV where Angela stood glaring at the officer parked behind Booth's vehicle as though everything was _his_ fault, while Booth steered a still somewhat dazed looking Brennan to the passenger side, opened the rear door, and began to guide her into the back seat so Angela could sit close beside her.

"Bones? You okay?" he tried again.

As she began to climb in, shaking off his guiding arm but still not answering his question, Booth shifted his weight from foot to foot in indecision for a moment as he recognized a demeanor he hadn't seen on her since their long trip home. His eyes flicked briefly over to Angela before returning to stare at his silent partner. When the first memory that flashed through his mind was her having a flashback in mid-flight home from Albania, first taking a few years off his life by trying to escape through the door in midair, and then finally holding a knife on him, he didn't take long to make a decision.

"Here. You drive."

Angela's concentration on staring a hole through the unfortunate patrolman was rudely broken by Booth's keys suddenly held out to her, dangling from his finger. Automatically she took them, silent for the moment as she watched him immediately turn his back on her and climb into the back with Brennan. Only when it became clear he had no intention of re-emerging did she find her voice.

"Whoa...Booth, wait. You want _me_ to drive your very official government G-man vehicle? Why?"

"Had enough of D.C. traffic today," he tossed easily over his shoulder, his eyes on Brennan's face as he moved to cautiously sit next to her. He kept his tone intentionally light for her sake - despite the fact that her stony expression and seeming obliviousness to him were causing enough worry to eat a hole through his heart.

"No, I meant..."

Still, he kept his tone light, though his eyes did finally turn toward Angela. "I know what you meant. Just drive straight to the police station and it'll be fine."

Angela glanced nervously back over her shoulder at the officer she had almost forgotten for a moment. "I'm pretty sure our Keystone cop back there has at least figured out that I'm not FBI, Booth. Couldn't this cause you some problems? I can sit with her."

He didn't even hesitate. After reaching up into the front with one lightning-fast motion to hit the button that would lock the back doors so they couldn't be opened from the inside, Booth was back out of the vehicle like a shot, using his body to block the one open door he had just emerged from. As he stepped out, he glanced back over his shoulder at Bones, who was staring quietly out the opposite window with that lost little girl look that always broke him. The fact that she seemed completely unaware of his presence - and, of course, that she had never spoken to him or even acknowledged his existence again after that hoarse little 'I'm fine' before they came outside - did little to calm him.

But having confirmed, for the moment at least, that she had no intention of taking off or falling apart, he turned his attention to Angela, all the while being careful to keep the door blocked. All of the former lightness was gone from his tone as he dropped his voice low where only she could hear him.

"I'm not worried about _him,_ I'm worried about _her._ You saw her face back there just like I did, and you see her now. God only knows what kind of memories having those damn handcuffs put on her have brought back up, but I don't trust her right now. I don't trust her not to run from me, and I don't put anything past her to try to escape if she has another flashback on the way there. _Anything_. Do you understand?"

Angela's eyes widened as she read between the lines. "God, Booth...you really think she would try to jump out of a moving car?"

He never even blinked. Only the slightly tighter clench of his jaw betrayed just how _much_ he thought that horrifying prospect was possible. And since he really didn't have time to beat around the bush, he wasn't going to pull any punches in his word choice. "She tried to jump off the goddamn plane in midair when one of those things hit her on the way home, so yeah, I'm not taking any chances. If she's going to have another one while we're going 60 miles an hour, I want my hands free and her within easy reach."

Angela's eyes were huge as she gaped at Booth, trying to process that little bombshell. Taking some pity on her, Booth softened considerably, placing a conciliatory hand on her shoulder. "Look, I've got these doors locked so they can't be opened from the inside. She's not going anywhere. But I still just don't want to take a chance. She could hurt herself trying, or she could hurt you. Either way, you drive and I'll sit with her."

Angela still hadn't quite caught up past the point of her best friend being so far out of her mind in terror that she had narrowly escaped killing herself on the plane. "How did you stop her? What did you do?" she asked in a voice not much above a whisper.

His jaw muscle jumped and his eyes clouded at the memory, but it was still strangely comforting to get it out. So much of what had happened was still locked up inside, poisoning him. "Panicked completely. I tackled her and just held on with everything I had." His haunted eyes looked a little rueful. "Probably didn't help her about being scared of me either, in hindsight."

Suddenly not wanting to meet Angela's eyes, he checked on Brennan over his shoulder again, noting that she hadn't moved. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. For once, he'd love nothing more than to hear her griping about his overprotective Alpha-male tendencies or his not letting her drive. He'd even more than willingly reopen the her-getting-a-gun debate if it'd just get her to say _something_ that sounded like her. He also absently noted the way the cop behind them was impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, shifting in his seat and probably wondering exactly what was taking so long. A flash of irritation hit Booth, right along with the even more irritating knowledge that he'd probably be responding much more impatiently in the exact same situation were the tables turned. He really had nothing to be complaining about where the officer was concerned, and that fact only frustrated him more.

He could still feel Angela's eyes on him, so he finally chanced a glance back at her, still half expecting to see accusation there. There was absolutely none. "I'm glad you were there, Booth. I'm glad you're here with her now."

He nodded gratefully, not really trusting his voice. One more glance behind him showed him that Brennan had turned and was looking in his direction, her eyes finally focused right on him. It prompted him into immediate action.

"Thank you." His hands landed gratefully on Angela's shoulders, giving them a quick squeeze before he carefully climbed back into the seat next to Brennan, a soft smile on his face as he saw that she was studying him somberly as he moved back in next to her, her eyes looking a little clearer. He counted it progress that she was meeting his eyes again.

"How you holding up, Bones?"

Her eyes tracked off of him toward the front seat as Angela climbed in and started the vehicle. Just as he was starting to worry that she had gone into some kind of completely catatonic state, she turned her eyes back to him.

"This is not fair."

His heart clenched, thinking she must be echoing his own sentiments about the injustice of something else happening to her just as she began to recover. Cautiously, he reached for her hand, vowing inwardly that his next words were true no matter what he had to do. "I know, baby. I'm going to take care of it, okay? It's going to be all right."

Her brow wrinkled up, and she'd never know just how much relief she bestowed on her partner's heart with her next words, despite her testy tone.

"Stop calling me that at work. Why does _Angela_ get to drive?"

… ooo … ooo …

A smile of relief nearly broke out on Booth's face as he expelled a breath that came from deep within. Nearly. That empty look on her face was still nothing to smile about. Part of him wanted to grab her and gratefully hug her for reassuring him that she was still in there, and then hold her all the way to the police station if she'd let him. Had it not been for what he witnessed at the Jeffersonian, he might've. Lately, reaching out to touch her seemed to be coming more and more naturally again, his confidence increasing with each time that they had contact and she didn't run screaming from him. And the night before, when she had not only _not_ pushed him away but had actually encouraged him as his hands wandered all over her, had done even more to restore his confidence.

He was actually starting to feel again like he had the privilege to put his hands on her without feeling like he first needed written permission signed in blood.

But for that exact moment, with tension still evident all over her from her flashback to being restrained, he was going to settle for edging just a little closer to her so that their shoulders were touching, and just let it be known that his arms and his shoulder were there for her if she wanted to lean on them. Apparently, she didn't. She almost immediately returned to staring out that window.

"See Bones, this is so much better than driving," he attempted after a minute or so, hoping to get another reaction out of her…a smile, an insult to take his cockiness down a peg or two, anything but that strangely stoic and emotionless face that was starting to scare him. "You get to sit with _me."_ He bumped her lightly with the shoulder touching her as he released her hand, angling himself a little toward her.

Nothing. She pulled her now freed hand away and crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring him completely.

As casually and nonchalantly as he could, Booth brought his arm up to the seatback behind her, not putting it around her or even touching her, but resting it so close that all she'd have to do is shift backward and his arm would be around her.

She never even looked at him, but was evidently aware of his tactic. "Aren't you going to yawn as well, in a ridiculous attempt to feign subtlety?"

She had caught him off guard, as it often did when she was all too fully aware of something he would have expected her to be oblivious about. Truth be told, her words delighted him, as did the fact that she had just busted him.

It was her tone that sent another stab of uneasiness through him. No humor at all….just flat, unemotional, if anything just a tinge annoyed and testy.

He decided to go along with the words rather than the tone.

"Bones, I'm hurt. I'm far too mature and smooth to try anything so juvenile as that." Pausing a moment for emphasis, he then lifted his arm back up and demonstrated his next words as he spoke, gratified to see that she at least turned to look and see what he was doing. "I usually go with the long drawn-out stretch..." Again, he ended with his arm on the seatback behind her rather than on her.

He'd have done just about anything to make her smile at that point, or to get that look out of her eyes. His attempt at humor clearly hadn't worked. So he tried the next weapon in his arsenal. Leaning in just a little, he pointedly ignored Angela's eyes on them in the rearview mirror as he flirted absolutely shamelessly with his partner in an attempt to put _some_ kind of smile on her face. Grinning a megawatt grin at her, he still didn't touch her but he was close enough that his breath moved her hair as he spoke. "So tell me who tried the yawn thing on you, Bones? Want me to get federal on 'em?"

Nothing. Not even a forced smile. She didn't even grace it with a _response_ , even a biting one. She just stared out that damn window again. He knew he probably should just leave her alone, but fear was beginning to set in that she would push him away.

Humor and flirting having failed, he moved on. Letting a pitiful expression creep into his eyes - one that had melted many a female before her - he next went for a plaintive, hurt tone. "Oh, c'mon, Bones. I thought you might like sitting back here with me."

The tension still running rampant within her caused her words to come out more harshly than she intended. "Actually, I'd prefer to drive. I don't need you to take care of me, Booth."

Booth sighed as the remnants of his smile faded completely from his face, recognizing her testiness for exactly what it was (fear), her preoccupation with driving for exactly what _it_ was (a desperate need to have some kind of control), and just didn't let either one get to him.

"It's going to be all right, Bones. Caroline's going to meet us there, and we'll work something out. You're not going behind bars tonight - I promise. I won't let that happen."

The sudden flash of anger in her eyes told him almost immediately that had been the wrong thing to say. With everything spinning out of control around her, she needed a target - an outlet for her frustrations about once again being out of control of her own destiny and being dependent on Booth for help…and, of course, having had a flashback in the middle of her safe-haven at the Jeffersonian in the eyes of way too many people she saw every day.

He'd have rather held her; but if she wasn't going to use his sturdy shoulders for comfort, he'd gladly let her beat her frustrations out on them instead so he could carry them for her. But even despite his complete willingness to take whatever anger she needed to dish out, the icy tone in her voice still chilled him. Anger he could deal with; shutting him out he couldn't. And she wasn't finished.

"You can't promise that, Booth, and I already told you I'm fine. This is not necessary. In fact, I should have ridden with Officer Swarovski. I don't expect special privileges."

Pointedly, she moved slightly away from his outstretched arm toward the door, putting a little space between the two of them and not quite understanding the way he tensed and his hand flinched slightly toward her when she did.

Trying to relax his tensed muscles that came as an automatic reaction to her moving toward the door, he did his best not to let the cold fist of worry around his heart squeeze him into panicking and doing or saying anything stupid. It always struck him as slightly ironic that any move to figuratively hold on to her more tightly had the opposite effect of pushing her farther away.

"Bones."

His calm tone only seemed to increase her determination. "You can't use your influence to fix every situation for me just because we're together now, Booth. I've been perfectly capable of taking care of myself without you for my entire adult life, and I didn't ask for your help today. This has nothing to do with you."

Whether consciously or not, she had been trying to provoke an angry reaction from him, and anger was exactly what she had expected. It would have made pushing him away so much easier if he would yell back at her. But by contrast, the soft way he spoke her name - completely devoid of anything even resembling anger or irritation - caught her completely off guard.

"Bones." His voice was even more tender than it had been in the lab in front of Cam.

"What?" Brennan snapped in return, even as tears she couldn't have explained sprang unbidden to her eyes in reaction to his kindness.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Perhaps you should," she shot back automatically, not even sure of exactly what that meant. Almost savagely, she brushed away the lone tear that traitorously made its way down her face.

Unwavering, his eyes stayed calmly fixed on her, despite the fact that his heart broke a little at that tear. "But I'm not. Push just as hard as you want. I'll be right beside you, Bones, no matter what. I'm not going to leave you. I promise. I _promise_. Just please _let_ me be here for you, okay?"

As closely as he watched her face, he saw the exact moment that he broke through her defenses. It took everything he had to keep from reaching for her when he saw her decide to trust him in this too. But it _had_ to be her decision completely. For once, he needed her to come to him.

And yet it was still another full minute, at least, before she reluctantly nodded, clearly unsure of how to proceed. When her eyes involuntarily flicked down to his arm still slightly behind her, that was good enough for him. Edging closer, he tentatively reached out and touched her shoulder, relieved when she met him halfway and leaned fully back into the seat, effectively placing herself in his one-armed embrace. She stared wordlessly out the window for the remaining moments of the drive, but the reassuring weight of her head against his shoulder when she unexpectedly laid it against him a moment later was all it took for him to protectively tighten his arm around her and pull her as close as he could get her, more determined than ever to keep her safe.

… ooo … ooo …

Brennan held up well through the time it took to photograph and fingerprint her, seeming more like herself as the flashback faded farther and farther from memory. Thanks to some acquaintances they had made on previous cases they had worked - not that Brennan actually remembered any of their names, but fortunately Booth did - he had managed to talk his way into staying with her the entire time.

Soon the three of them were sitting in an interview room waiting for 'her attorney,' Booth's chair pulled so close next to her that their knees touched under the table. She was acting almost entirely like herself by that point, with no clue just how relieved the man sitting beside her felt about that.

They didn't have to wait long before the door was abruptly slammed open.

"This better be good, Seeley Booth," was Caroline Julian's opening statement as she dramatically slapped her bag down on the metal interview table before them and planted a hand on her hip. "You pulled me out of an anniversary celebration for a federal judge about five minutes before they started serving the quiche."

Not even waiting for his answer, she turned an appraising eye on Brennan as she took the head chair at the table, all the while crossing her arms and appearing to look threatening. "You. I should have figured. Well let's have it, cherie. What did you _not_ do this time?"

… ooo … ooo …

She looked toward Booth as though for direction, and at his encouraging nod Brennan answered Caroline's question perfectly literally:

"I did _not_ break his arm, and I did not stalk or threaten to kill him." Almost apologetically, her eyes turned toward Booth without ever moving her head from Caroline's direction. "I did, however, break his nose."

Caroline never even blinked. "Whose arm? Whose nose?"

Never having known the man's name, Brennan looked a little uncertain how to answer that question. "I...don't know." Seeing the exasperated look Caroline flashed at Booth, Brennan tried again. "The victim's?" It sounded more like a question than an answer.

The prickly prosecutor huffed impatiently. "Right now I should be bumping elbows with a bunch of federal judges holding plates full of cream puffs, so don't get cute with _me_ , cherie. Somebody tell me why I'm here, and make sense." The full weight of her glare turned to Booth. "You. _When_ and _where_ did she not break this mystery victim's arm, and more importantly _why_?"

Brennan quickly answered for herself before he could speak, to Booth's growing consternation. "Last weekend, at an establishment known as the Hot Spot nightclub." Gesturing toward Angela, she made a further attempt to clarify. "Angela wished to engage in a social ritual known as 'girl's night out,' ostensibly as a means of mitigating a dispute between Agent Booth and myself."

Apparently, over the years Caroline had also learned to quickly translate Brennanese. She blinked one time, uncharacteristically speechless for a split second as she appraised both Booth and Brennan, finally noticing just exactly how close they were sitting. Then she rose to her feet and leaned across the table toward Booth, hands braced on the table.

"Let me get this straight. You called me down here to play defense attorney because this one started a _bar brawl_ when you two got into a little lovers' spat? I take back what I've said in the past about you, Booth. You're not crazy. You've lost your damn mind."

Brennan spoke up quickly. "Actually, that's incorrect. Booth and I are not lovers. Well, not yet."

 _That_ put every eye on her, but the primary ones she noticed were Booth's, which incomprehensibly looked slightly stricken all of a sudden.

"What? Bones!" he protested, looking like a wounded puppy - a _pitiful_ wounded puppy. Somewhat urgently, his hand shot out and grabbed a file folder from a pocket of Caroline's briefcase, holding it up with himself and Brennan behind it as though it would actually do _anything_ to stop a suddenly very interested Angela and very put-out Caroline from hearing his scandalized whisper. "Not lovers? How can you even say that after _last night_?" he whispered dramatically.

"Because it's true, Booth," she loudly whispered back, mimicking his tone.

He had almost forgotten the arrest, Angela, and even the wrath of Caroline. "Bones, for the hundredth time, just because we haven't made love yet..."

He was stopped by the sudden disappearance of the folder/barrier from his hands, as Caroline unceremoniously snatched it from his grasp and tucked it back in the side of her briefcase. "What is this, the junior high prom? People can still _hear_ you when you do that, cher. And what does this have to do with my bar brawl? Nothing, I'm guessing. I don't have time to play referee, Booth, and black and white stripes do _not_ flatter me anyway. So cut to the chase. What exactly do you need me to do?"

But at Booth's reference to _last night,_ Angela was grinning ear to ear for the first time since Officer Swarovski had arrived at the Jeffersonian. She hadn't forgotten watching Brennan walk out of her office the night before with a head of steam and plans to scare her partner senseless while getting it through his thick head that she wanted to move things along. But she had never had a chance to interrogate her friend that morning before the officer arrived; and upon seeing how calm Brennan had looked when she arrived at work, Angela had quite honestly assumed that cooler heads had prevailed and Brennan had cooled down by the time she reached Booth's apartment...leading to only more of the same, and probably one more daffodil in the next vase of flowers.

"Oh my _God_. _Bren_ , you actually went through with it?"

Brennan turned calmly toward her friend. "Yes. You really shouldn't sound so surprised, Angela. I told you what I intended to do."

" _Bones!"_

"What?"

The completely horror-stricken look on Booth's face was clear even to her. He didn't have to say another word.

"You already knew that Angela was involved, Booth. And I already told you that she only knew the basic idea of the plan."

Needing something to focus on, Booth had reached out and grabbed one of the bottled waters the police department had provided for them. Opening it, he took several long drinks, not even tasting the water. It took him that long to be able to put together a sentence. "Well let's just keep it that way, all right?" He only sounded mildly panicked, he noted gladly. "Non-specific, Bones. Always be as non-specific as possible." Crisis averted, he started to turn his attention to Caroline.

But Angela wasn't done - not even close. "So exactly how far _did_ things go?" she couldn't resist asking with a huge grin. If Booth was that paranoid, that could only mean there were juicy details she needed immediately.

"Not very far," Brennan announced casually. "Only third base."

It was a good thing he was in between drinks. As it was, he still managed to suck some water down the wrong pipe, although he managed to avoid any embarrassing choking or coughing fits.

"No! We - I mean, Bones, that - it really wasn't..." Damnit, he needed that folder again. And a sock to shove in her mouth until he could fully explain the base system _and_ have a very serious discussion about discretion with her behind said folder. "Non-specific, Bones!"

As usual, she saw absolutely no cause for his alarm. "That _is_ non-specific, Booth. It's a vague generality. Besides, you said it was third base Booth-style. Although I'm unaware of the standard definition of third base, it stands to reason that Booth-style implies specific differences Angela would be unaware of. Therefore, saying third base is, by definition, non-specific."

"Third base Booth-style?" Angela's eyebrows sat almost on top of her head. "Oh, this I've got to hear."

Even Caroline looked vaguely amused despite her impatience, so he just gave up. "You know what? Forget it. Can we please just focus here?"

"Just one more question...how's your back today, Booth?" Angela teased.

"Great," the target of her teasing groused, his neck flushing a deep red as one hand self-consciously came up to rub it. "Just peachy. None of your business. Look, Caroline, the cops have got medical records and security tapes. It'll be easy enough for the squints to give you proof that the two don't match up and it wasn't Bones who broke this bastard's arm. I just need you to get her out of here in the meantime without her ever seeing the inside of a holding cell, and get the squints the evidence they need to prove her innocence."

Caroline pinned him with a hard look, not the least bit swayed. "I think maybe a few hours in there might do them both some good." She turned her scowl on Brennan and Angela, her tone derisive. "Expert witnesses from the Jeffersonian Institution, running around popping possible future members of my juries in the nose, like they think they're at some college frat party. Now what were you two thinking, cheries?"

Clearly Booth wasn't getting his point across, but no way in hell was he attempting it with Bones in the room. Lips pressed into a thin line, Booth rose to his feet and placed a hand at Caroline's elbow. His next several sentences came out in one long, unpaused rush as he marched the prosecutor from the table and out the door.

"Caroline I need to talk to you outside please, Excuse us ladies, Angela keep an eye on her, Thank you."

When he and Caroline stepped outside the room and the door clicked shut, she was giving him a look that would have made a lesser man hide as she removed her arm from his grasp. "You better be glad you've got a pretty face, cher, or I'd have already rearranged it for you. Now what's going on here? You two are acting even weirder than normal, and that's saying a lot."

Booth's jaw clenched. "Look, can I just give you the nutshell version?"

Still not really knowing what was going on, Caroline crossed her arms huffily as she raised one eyebrow. "I wish you would. First time for everything."

Booth held her eyes, making sure she saw how serious he was. He didn't want to say any of it more than once. Once was going to be hard enough. Damn, but he was sick of reliving this. Why the hell hadn't Cam just filled her in?

"Bones got kidnapped in Albania and sold to a sex slavery operation. It took me days to find her while they kept her chained to a bed pumping drugs into her, and when I finally did find her it got ugly. I had to convince her captors I was assaulting her, only she didn't get quite get the message that it was an act. She's been having flashbacks left and right since we got back, a lot of them about _me_ attacking her, and then some idiot at this nightclub Angela hauled her off to decided to get fresh with her. She had a flashback, grabbed his arm, he tried to hit her, and she finished it. Obviously he found out who she is, and now he's decided she's good for some quick bucks so he's claiming she's been stalking him. They've got medical records and security tapes we can use to fight the battery charge, but we need to get this guy's phone records to disprove the stalking. In the meantime, Bones just about lost it when that cop put handcuffs on her to bring her down here, and I don't know what it'll do to her if she gets put behind bars for even a minute. So I need her _out_ of here _. Now._ With _me._ Is that nutshell enough for you?"

Caroline's eyes were about as surprised as he'd ever seen them, although she had lost none of that unflappable exterior. She recovered in approximately two seconds.

"Well why didn't you just say so, cher? Now that gives me something I can work with."

Turning on her heel and leaving the suddenly exhausted man behind her in her wake, she strode right up to poor Officer Swarovski, at a nearby computer working on his reports for the day. "You. I need to see all of the evidence against my client. Medical records, security tapes, everything."

His mouth opened and closed once like a fish. "But the prosecutor..."

"Is going to give it all to me anyway, cher. Call the D.A.'s office if you need to, but get me those files."

She spun around and began making her way back to the room where Brennan waited, Booth still standing just outside the door watching her. Just before she entered the door Booth opened for her, she turned back around to the gaping officer. "What are you waiting for? My client is clearly mentally compromised and in need of immediate medical attention. Did you even bother to request a mental evaluation be done at the time of arrest?"

"I..."

"It's not a difficult question, cher. Was she offered medical or mental health care, or was she transported to a facility for evaluation?"

Swarovski tried pointing at Booth. "She was in the custody of..."

Caroline didn't let him finish. "What is this, your first day on the job? My client is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She needs to be under the care of a mental health professional, not locked up in a jail cell. Now call the D.A.'s office, get your authorization, and get me that evidence before any more of my client's civil rights are violated."

With that, she strode back into the interrogation room, followed only a few seconds later by Booth. If anyone other than him noticed that Caroline managed to be just as brisk and edgy as normal for the rest of their meeting without ever once directing any of her venom in Brennan's direction, nobody mentioned it.

… ooo … ooo …

Three hours later, Brennan walked out of the police station with Booth's steadying hand on her back, released on her own recognizance. Through her vast network of contacts, Caroline had managed to get Brennan a super-fast first appearance hearing, and had even managed to get a subpoena for the phone records of the 'victim'. It would take some time to get them, but it was a weight off of Booth's mind knowing that they would soon have them and they would disprove every stupid, not-so-well-thought-out accusation the loser had made about Brennan calling him.

He'd spent all afternoon picking every detail of the statement apart with Caroline, until he got to the point where the 'victim' implied Bones was some kind of slut that had been trying to catch _his_ eye all night. That was when Caroline pointed out that he was so furiously red his head looked like it was going to explode and she shooed him away before he could get any ideas about doing anything stupid, reminding him that he had called in his very last favor so he now owed _her_ forever and she wouldn't be coming to bail him out.

At the hearing, it also didn't hurt matters that one look at the X-ray in the medical records had been enough for Brennan to conclude that although the man certainly had a broken arm, the injury had been sustained in a fall, quite possibly from a motorcycle accident - a fact which was quickly corroborated by Dr. Clark Edison of the Jeffersonian Institution. More than likely, Booth opined to Brennan, he had broken his arm in a drunken crash after leaving the club that night and had just capitalized on the opportunity it provided him. Booth also opined that he hoped it hurt like hell.

Although they had failed to get all of the charges dismissed outright, at least she was going home and they had a game plan for taking care of the rest of it. And at least, Booth thought with great relief, he hadn't had to watch her get locked up. He wasn't sure either of them could have handled that right then.

As they left the station, this time Booth drove and allowed Brennan to take her normal place next to him in the front seat, as she had been acting more or less like herself since arriving at the police station. Angela sat in the back, and was mostly quiet for the ride back to the Jeffersonian - as were Booth and Brennan.

When Booth pulled up outside the Jeffersonian, Angela quickly leaned forward to give Brennan a quick hug. "I love you, sweetie. Call me if you need anything."

Brennan's face registered confusion as Angela climbed out of the vehicle, and she quickly opened her own door to follow. "What are you talking about? I'm coming back in with you."

"No, you're not," Booth stated flatly, reaching out to catch her arm and cutting off any response Angela might have made. "I'm taking you home with me."

Brennan scoffed, preparing to ridicule that statement until she caught sight of his face and realized just exactly how serious he was. Quickly, her own expression mirrored his in seriousness. "I have work to finish, Booth."

All three of them were exhausted, and he intended this to be a brief argument. "What you have, Bones, is some grubby little creep making false accusations about you stalking him, who's going to be finding out pretty soon here that his charges against you on the broken arm have been dismissed. I'm not letting you out of my sight." He didn't think the guy would really go after her, but with Bones it was always safest not to take anything for granted.

"I can drive myself to your apartment when I'm finished here," she argued reasonably. "You've seen the tape, Booth. Even if he approaches me, I can easily defend myself."

Of course she could, and he knew it. She'd already kicked the guy's ass once. That didn't mean the very idea didn't give him cold chills. She could have beat the crap out of the Gravedigger and Edon Tolka too, or even Kenton - but she hadn't got a chance. Martial arts aren't very effective against cattle prods, injections, and guns.

"I know that, Bones. And yes, I did see the tape. But what I see right now is _you_. You're exhausted, you've been through the wringer, and to be honest with you so have I. Just..." He glanced momentarily in Angela's direction, not really comfortable with talking freely in front of her; but since she was firmly planted in place and Brennan still looked determined to go with her, he really didn't have much choice. "Just come home with me now and let me take care of you tonight, Bones. Please."

In the next moment, he was glad Angela was still standing there. "Let him, sweetie. Booth's right. Go home with him."

Brennan _was_ exhausted, and though she might have persisted in arguing with either of them, she just wasn't up to two of them. "Fine. But I'm driving my own car so I can come in early tomorrow. You can follow me if you like."

He ground his teeth for just a moment, not really liking her condition, but at least he had a promise that she was coming home with him, right then. "Fine. I'll take you to get your car. But I'll be _right behind_ you all the way to my apartment." Her look was sufficient to say she thought his overprotective behavior was ridiculous, but the slight hint of challenge in her eyes only prompted him to take it a step further. "Don't even think about trying to lose me, Bones."

"Be careful, you two," Angela called after them as she turned to enter the building, amusement and worry mingled together in her voice. "See you tomorrow, Bren."

… ooo … ooo …

His cell phone rang the moment - the very _moment_ \- he pulled into his building directly behind Bones' car. He recognized the number immediately, worry registering in his face at receiving a call from her at such an unexpected time.

"Rebecca? Is everything okay with Parker?"

To his relief, it was, although everything wasn't really okay with Rebecca. She had an overnight trip planned weeks in advance for work, and her babysitting plans had just fallen through.

Oh, and she was pulling in his apartment building right behind him, and could he please take Parker for the night and drop him off at school in the morning? She'd be back in time to pick him up the next afternoon.

Ordinarily, he'd be delighted, and a huge part of him still was.

On the other hand...

On the other hand, he wasn't really too sure how he felt about an overnighter with Bones in front of his son before he'd had a chance to even discuss the changes with him, especially when those changes were so new. Not to mention that Parker could come up with some of the most jawdroppingly uncomfortable questions he'd ever heard, which was saying a lot considering who his partner was.

And then on the _other_ other hand, he wasn't really too sure how Bones was going to feel about that either. The very image of them living as a family together in his apartment for even one night might have her online looking up tickets to Guatemala faster than he could even _spell_ Guatemala. He needed time to prepare her for this...like six months on his knees in prayer to whatever saint was the patron saint of brainwashing.

But, of course, Bones and Rebecca were already parked on either side of him, both already emerging from their cars, so he wasn't going to get that chance.

Yeah. This was going to be fun. Like brain surgery type of fun.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

 **Author's Note: CONTENT WARNING…mind the rating for a portion of this one. ;)**

In retrospect, as Booth thought about it later, he probably could have handled it better than freezing like a deer caught in the headlights.

Rebecca was parked on Booth's driver's side, leaving Brennan to have to walk all the way around from his passenger side where she had parked. So Rebecca caught sight of Brennan first as she rounded the corner.

"Seeley, here's Parker's backpack. I've already signed his... oh, Dr. Brennan! This is a surprise." That statement was followed by a knowing look at the overnight bag in Brennan's hand, a look that said it wasn't _really_ a surprise and it was probably high time.

"Rebecca." Complete, utter awkwardness from Bones, and a forced smile to accompany that greeting. "Booth?" Questioning eyes.

"Bones! What are _you_ doing here?" A child's delight.

"Hi, Parker!" A little less awkwardness from Bones as Parker ran to hug her, and a slightly more genuine smile.

"Are you spending the night too?" Innocent curiosity. He'd noticed the bag too, of course.

And then panic. It was the only word that could describe the look on her face, as she understood on some level that Booth hadn't expected Parker to be there and that her method of answering Parker's simple question would most likely be of great importance to Booth. If only she had any idea what the right answer was.

Panic was also an apt description of the look on Booth's face as he watched the train wreck unfolding in front of him, scared to death what might come out of any one of the three mouths in front of him and what effect it might have on either of the two people he most adored. When Brennan's eyes flew to him for guidance, she correctly deciphered the look on his face, but none of the reasons for it. He saw her recognize it; _knew_ what she took it to mean. And he _still_ couldn't move - unintentionally leaving her to make the wrong decision.

"No! No, Parker. In fact, I was just leaving." She hesitated for just a moment as she backed a step away, obviously trying to decide whether she needed to say something else and _then_ bolt, or just bolt. "Have a good time with your dad. Rebecca...it's nice to see you again."

The sight of her retreating back and the jingle of her keys was enough to unfreeze Booth from his sudden catatonia. Jeez, she hadn't even told _him_ goodbye, not to mention that the last thing in life he wanted was for her to be alone right then, especially after _this_.

"Bones, wait!" With an apologetic gesture toward Rebecca and Parker that indicated for them to wait there for him for just a second, he followed his partner back around his truck toward her car, keeping his voice low. "Bones, _wait_. It's okay. Parker's a pretty smart kid, and I'm pretty sure Rebecca figured out how I feel about you a long time ago. It's okay. I want you to stay."

She stopped directly beside the door to her car. "Booth, I've already told you that I'll be fine. It's not necessary for me to intrude on your time with Parker."

She moved to open her car door, and he reached out and snagged her hand in his. "Bones, you're _not_ intruding, and this isn't just about me being worried about you after today. Didn't you hear what I said a minute ago? I _want_ you to stay. _Parker_ wants you to stay. You saw his face...he was thrilled to see you."

He could see that she was less than convinced. "Am I going to sleep on the couch, or are you?" At his look of shock, she clarified. "Although it is highly unlikely that Parker would be traumatized in any way, it seems unlikely that you would be comfortable with us sharing a bed in his presence."

She was still so _Bones,_ even after four years, that it always took him a moment to catch up when she demonstrated just how well she had come to know him and just how much she had changed through his influence. It almost boggled his mind that not only had she realized he might have some reticence on the subject, she was attempting to react sensitively toward it - even though she saw no logical reason for it.

It made his answer swift and sure. "You'll sleep with _me_ , Bones. I'll talk to Parker. It's not like anything's going to happen tonight anyway."

"Why not?" she frowned at him, shifting gears quickly now that the first issue was settled. Now she was much more focused on why, if she was going to share his bed behind a closed and presumably locked door anyway, nothing could happen.

His mouth hung slightly open for half a second before he consciously closed it, trying to think how to answer _that_ one. Ignoring the obvious answer of the very light sleeper in the form of a prepubescent boy a few steps down the hall, he decided to go for something that might make more sense to her. "For one thing, we're both exhausted. For another, remember rule number 3? Physical contact doesn't go any farther until I've taken you on at least two dates? You agreed. I'm not budging."

Her eyes narrowed, and he could almost see the wheels turning. "By physical contact…you mean you touching me, and me touching you. Correct?"

Suspiciously, he answered what seemed like such an obvious question. "Um...yes." It was the only possible answer, which she must have surely known already, but then why did he feel like he'd just lost some ground there?

She nodded one time curtly, a satisfied smile appearing on her face. That smile didn't really match her next words, leaving him more lost than he had been before. "Good. I'm going home, Booth. Enjoy your night with Parker. I'll call you later." He was so busy being reassured by the quick, firm kiss she reached up and planted on his lips that he missed her hand withdrawing from his until it was too late and she already had her car door open.

"Wait...what? Bones!"

"I have work on my book that I need to finish, and you need to spend some time with Parker. I'll call you as soon as I get home so you won't worry." Resolute as she sounded, he still had the gut feeling there was just a _little_ more to it than that, although he wasn't really picking up anything from her that made him worry she was panicking on him. He couldn't really put his finger on _what_ she was doing, honestly.

"Hang on..." he stalled. If she was determined not to spend the evening with him and Parker, he knew pushing her might be the worst thing he could do. He was just going to have to swallow his admittedly alarmist fears about the guy from the club and let her go home if that's what she was determined to do. The awful flashback she'd had earlier still had him worried, but he could call and check on her once or twice - or 10 times.

"Look, at least come to the diner with us first. I don't have anything in the house Parker's going to touch, so we've gotta go get something to eat anyway. Come with us, and then Parker and I will follow you home." _And follow you right in the door so I can at least make_ _sure_ _you're safe if you're not going to just stay with me,_ he finished mentally, but no use crossing that bridge until he got there.

To his relief she agreed, and soon he was loading up his son and bidding a way-too-smirky Rebecca a good trip, wondering just exactly what was going through his partner's head _now_ as he followed her to the diner.

… ooo … ooo …

To Booth's never ending relief, Parker had pretty quickly dropped the question of why Bones had a bag if she wasn't spending the night, and had done so while he and Booth were still in the truck. Dinner at the diner went smoothly, and was really no different than any of the other handful of times they had all three shared a table at the diner through the years. Parker didn't seem to have noticed anything different, anyway, and if Bones seemed a little awkward Booth could just chalk it up to nerves or the incredibly long day she'd had.

After he shut Parker's car door but before getting in the truck himself to follow Bones back to her apartment, he tried one more time to quietly convince her to just stay the night with him. The slow smile that spread across her face gave him the impression once again that something was _definitely_ up, but she didn't give anything away. In fact, she didn't even answer. She just got in her car and started to drive away, leaving him scrambling to get in his own vehicle and catch up with her.

Parker's first clue that something was different was probably the fact that Booth parked and they followed Bones up to her apartment, but he mostly just seemed interested in talking about the pool and when it would be open for summer.

He also didn't bat an eye when his dad left him standing just inside the doorway with Brennan while he started making his way through her apartment like he owned the place, opening closets and checking everything out. He even grinned when Brennan looked down and, after taking a moment to consider her own childhood with Russ and their possible youthful reactions to their own dad's overprotectiveness, she smirked slightly and rolled her eyes at him. The uncharacteristic gesture from the normally buttoned-down grownup lit an answering spark of mischief in the boy's eyes. He smiled up at Brennan, leaning in slightly as though telling her a secret. "He does this sometimes."

"Yes. He does," Brennan agreed, nodding assuredly.

"You should have seen him the night he brought me home and Mom had left the front door standing wide open," he shared.

Brennan smiled back at the one other person with whom she could really engage in a discussion of personal experience about Booth's overprotective Alpha-male tendencies. "Why? What happened?"

Parker shrugged. "I don't know. He made me wait in the car, and he won't tell me what happened inside or what Mom said to him until I have hair on my armpitts. I tried to tell him the door was just open 'cause Mom and her boyfriend had been painting the living room, but he didn't listen. All I know is that he went sneaking up to the door with his gun out like he was James Bond."

"I know who that is!" Brennan told him delightedly, her own eyes lighting up.

"Doesn't everybody?" Parker responded, reminding her more than a little of his dad the way he said it. "Mom was _so_ mad at him for days after that, so mad that she wouldn't even answer the phone when he called to talk to me. She made me answer. She said he scared years off of her life and he's lucky he can still have more kids. Whatever that means."

Brennan was beginning to get into the spirit of the conversation. "One time, he tackled me because he saw a red light and thought a bomb was about to explode."

"Whoa! There was a bomb?"

Brennan shook her head, her own grin growing. "No. It was just a red light on a transmitter."

Parker grinned delightedly, enjoying the fun at his dad's expense. Shaking his head with that big grin on his face, he looked adorably grown up. "How embarrassing!" he proclaimed gleefully.

Booth showed back up just in time to see the two of them laughing and looking just a little too conspiratory, and to hear Parker's final two words. He had to smile as well at the sight of his two favorite people obviously roasting him in his absence and enjoying every second of it.

"Uh-oh. What's embarrassing? And why are my ears burning?"

Brennan piped up immediately, her grin turning to a frown instantly. "I have no way of knowing, Booth. Paresthesia of the ears could result from a number of conditions, ranging from a simple sunburn to peripheral neuropathy as a possible symptom of diabetes or even multiple sclerosis. Perhaps you should see a doctor."

Parker nudged her, and this time it was Booth that was reminded of himself when Parker patiently-but-exasperatedly translated for her in a mock stage-whisper. " _No_ , Bones! He means he knows we were talking about him."

Brennan's attention turned back to Parker. "Oh. I see." Her frown said she didn't, not really. "But that still wouldn't account for the paresthesia."

"You didn't find a bomb did you, Dad?" Parker smirked mischievously, not willing to let his dad off the hook so easily and just dying to flaunt his new piece of info.

"Bones! You _told_ him about that?" Booth asked in alarm, automatically thinking about her refrigerator blowing him up and just exactly how much Parker really didn't need to know about that.

"I can't believe you tackled Bones and there wasn't even a bomb!" Parker remarked, taking full advantage of his new knowledge, not seeing the way Booth relaxed when he realized what incident they were actually talking about.

"I'll be certain to take appropriate security precautions next time I paint, as well," Brennan threw in. "Thank you for warning me." And Parker nodded sagely at her wisdom.

Booth's hands went to his hips, his expression a lot more stern than he really felt. "I was gone for what? Thirty seconds?"

The two people he'd keep right on protecting no matter how much they teased him for it looked at each other, considering. "I'd say at least a minute, don't you think, Parker?"

"Yeah. It takes him at least that long to crawl under all the beds and point his gun at the bathroom cabinets, even though nobody could really fit under there anyway."

Booth pointed a finger at them. "I do not _crawl_ under the beds. And there's nothing to say an intruder couldn't be very short. If you two are finished, Parker's got school in the morning." He approached and clapped both hands on Parker's shoulders, good-naturedly steering him toward the door as he muttered to himself. "Don't know why I bother to send him. He already knows everything anyway."

"Because you have to send him," Brennan answered from right on his heels. "Truancy is against the law."

One hand still on Parker's shoulder right by the door, Booth turned back around to Brennan with a softly amused smile and affection written all over his face as his other hand came to rest at her waist. "Thanks, Bones. I'll keep that in mind."

The air between them changed just a bit as their eyes met, their faces close together as she had followed him right on his heels the few steps toward the door. Booth debated just exactly how to say goodbye with Parker right there, while she stood waiting expectantly, willing to follow his lead in front of his son.

In the end, the decision was made for them. Parker was young, after all, not blind or stupid.

"Whoa! Dad, are you gonna kiss Bones?"

The corners of Booth's lips turned up slightly. His eyes never left Brennan's face, although they did dance back and forth between her eyes and her lips. "I think I might. How would you feel about that, Parks?"

He was a lot less worried about the answer to that one than Brennan. He knew his son well, and even if he hadn't already known Parker adored Bones, the last few minutes had just confirmed it. Brennan, on the other hand, was no longer even looking at Booth; she was completely focused on Parker and how he would respond.

Parker groaned the way only a boy his age could do to express just how mystifying and somewhat gross adult behavior could be. "It took you long enough. Just don't get too mushy. And I'm closing my eyes."

Booth waited until Brennan's eyes came back to him, knowing she would watch Parker to see if he really did close his eyes. "I'm closing mine, too," he whispered to her then, his eyes twinkling, before he did exactly that and gently kissed her goodnight - one of the most chaste kisses they had shared yet, but still not failing to send shivers down Brennan's spine at the soft caress of Booth's lips combined with the suddenly firmer pressure of his hand at her waist.

He released her all too soon, after only a moment, but it was written all over his face how much more he wanted. He hadn't really expected to be apart from her at night again any time soon...or ever, if he could have found a way to convince her. But he'd rather let her spend this one night alone - a million times over, if necessary - than to push her into spending it with him and Parker and end up making her run. "Good night, Bones. You lock this behind us, you hear?"

At her nod, he opened the door and steered Parker out. Little did he know that his night with Bones was far from over.

… ooo … ooo …

At 11:30 that night, long after he had sent Parker to bed and had already crashed himself, his cell phone rang. He had left his phone right next to his pillow before going to sleep, after the third time he'd called to check on her and make sure she hadn't had any more flashbacks after the events of the day. Heart thudding, he sat straight up in bed and answered quickly. "Bones? What's wrong?"

"Is Parker asleep?"

Her relaxed tone set him instantly at ease, and he leaned back against the headboard and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, kicking the covers off so that he sat in only his soft gray sweatpants he usually wore to bed when Parker was over in case the boy needed something in the middle of the night. "Mm-hm. Down the hall snoring like a freight train. Why?"

"Mmm. Are _you_ in bed?"

Everything, and he did mean _everything_ about her tone had changed, and there was nothing relaxing about it.

"Bones..." He wasn't even sure anymore why he thought that warning tone in his voice would actually accomplish anything. It was a lot like trying to stop a nuclear missile with Parker's pellet gun.

"I realized something last night while you were in the shower, Booth."

"Oh yeah?" A conversational tone. He could do conversation, although why she had decided at 11:30 after one of the longest days in recent memory that she suddenly wanted to have a little chat with him was beyond explanation.

"I haven't had an orgasm since before I left for Albania."

Oh.

He also wasn't sure anymore why it continued to shock the hell out of him when Bones acted like Bones and told him _exactly_ what was on her mind.

Almost by habit, he started to slam on the brakes and give his patented response that it wasn't any of his business and he didn't need to know that…until he remembered the happy fact that it most definitely _was_ his business and he most definitely _did_ need to know that _._

But what was he even supposed to say to that, all things considered? Fortunately, she must have foreseen his completely frozen state, and was prepared with a follow up.

"I know that you can't say the same, Booth. I know that you didn't take a cold shower last night as you led me to believe you were."

It was a good thing she couldn't see how wide his eyes went.

"Bones, I..." His initial response was to be embarrassed as hell that she had caught him, and he knew he probably should be.

But he could kid himself all he wanted. Suddenly, he knew _exactly_ where this was going, and there wasn't really much sense in pretending it wasn't. He'd figured out a long time ago that something like this was probably coming at some point anyway if he found himself in a relationship with Bones, though he hadn't planned on it happening over the phone. Wasn't much chance that a woman as brain-oriented as the one he loved didn't have a thing for words and wouldn't want some mental stimulation of the verbal type in her bedroom too. Wasn't like he didn't have a pet fantasy, for pretty much that very reason, which centered around telling her in somewhat-less-than-scientific terms _exactly_ what he planned to do to her, while she squirmed under him.

There was a reason, after all, that he was already getting up to close and lock his bedroom door, and there was also a reason he was already turning on his TV at a low volume to drown out any potential noise before he dropped back down onto his bed, already feeling his blood start to move south, the phone cradled close to his ear.

"Okay. How the hell did you know _that?"_

"Your bathroom mirror," she informed him calmly. "It was completely fogged up, Booth, after a very short amount of time, indicating that you took what was most likely an extremely hot shower. And I also heard you call my name."

Oh. Busted. _Double_ busted. Scientific evidence _and_ a witness account. Good for a conviction in any court.

Time to try for self-deprecating humor. "Listen, Bones, I'm sorry if I misled you. I just knew I was about to get in bed with you, and I don't think I'd have made it otherwise. Forgive me?"

He may as well not have even spoken. If he didn't know better, he'd half believe that she was working off some kind of damn script.

"Do you know whose name _I_ called the last time I made myself come, Booth? The night before I got on the plane to leave?"

The shift in her words didn't go unnoticed, and hearing Temperance Brennan talking about 'making herself come' instead of 'bringing herself to orgasm' brought an unintentional groan from his lips as more blood went racing to his already partially aroused member. She was sure to hear the strained change in his own voice, and he couldn't bring himself to care. The lateness of the hour, and going from sound asleep to the sound of her husky bedroom voice in his ear all seemed incredibly erotic, and he knew he wasn't going to be stopping her even if this definitely wasn't behavior befitting a something-in-between relationship.

Now he knew exactly why she had made a point of confirming that the rules they had agreed upon involved them touching _each other_. She had found a loophole, and she had been planning this since his parking lot earlier when she asked him that question, and had probably even been plotting what to say when he was sitting so innocently beside her at the diner.

That thought made him bite back another aroused groan, even as he bristled slightly at her question. Knowing her, he wouldn't even be that _surprised_ if she thought it was just perfectly fine to tell him all about some fantasy about another man.

"I better know whose name it was. There's only one right answer to that question, Temperance," he informed her a little roughly. "So if it's anybody's name other than mine..."

"It's always yours, Booth. It's been yours for a long time."

She dropped that bombshell on him so casually that it really took a few seconds to sink in. She had already told him she hadn't done this since Albania - which meant she had been thinking about him when she touched herself even _before_ he told her how he felt. God, how big of an idiot had he been not to ever tell her he loved her and wanted her? He had wasted _so much damn time._

" _Jesus_ , Bones. Me too. I promise." Eyes squeezed shut, he poured every possible ounce of emotion into his voice, willing her to hear the utter truth in his words.

"Could you help me with something, Booth? Please?"

"Anything." That answer was pretty automatic.

"I took a cold shower last night. Even after realizing that you hadn't."

"Yeah?" Okay, so now what was this? Her sudden shifts had a tendency to leave him dizzy, especially with so little blood in his brain. Was this some type of guilt trip?

"I regretted that decision for most of the night. I found it highly unsatisfying."

As if he didn't know. "Yeah, well that's kind of the point, Bones."

"No. The point, Booth, is that I don't intend to do it again. I have been extremely aroused for quite some time, and I intend to come tonight. As you're entirely responsible for my condition, I thought perhaps you would be willing to assist me."

His eyes were still shut, and he took a deep breath as he tried to restore some order to his brain, enough to mount at least the pretense of a protest. Which was utter bullshit because he was already sliding down onto his back and getting good and comfortable.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Bones. This is not the way I envisioned this happening."

"You could say no, of course."

Riiiight….and hang up knowing she was just going to go through with it anyway, with or without him? There weren't words to describe just exactly how much she had him on this one.

"I'm pretty sure you already knew I won't."

"It's actually quite rational, Booth." If it wasn't for the change in her breathing that told him in no uncertain terms her fingers were already exploring, it might have been like any other quasi-argument. Instead, he felt his own breath quickening, his fingers tightening on the phone as she continued to plead her case. "You have concerns about my reactions to actual physical touch. Phone sex allows us to achieve mutual gratification for the first time without that threat. It is a logical compromise, and one which should increase both of our confidence when we move forward physically."

"How so?" he asked, trying to keep up with her words as his mind imagined her fingers creeping beneath the edges of whatever ridiculously sexy panties he assumed she had to be wearing.

"We will both have the knowledge that I have already achieved orgasm once while imagining your hands on me, even after the events that occurred in Albania. Actually having your hands on me in an attempt to bring me to orgasm would then be the next logical step, and should be less concerning for both of us after this."

"Uh-huh," he agreed, giving in to the urge to let his hand wander to his groin, and wondering if her argument would make as much sense the next morning when he wasn't rock hard and dying to agree with her. Two highly aroused people probably shouldn't attempt to set any records for world's most logical reasoning. "And when you say 'mutual gratification...'"

"I should think that would be clear, Booth. I intend for you to come with me."

… ooo … ooo …

The next sound that encroached on his senses through the phone lines, before he could even ask what she was wearing, was one that instantly brought him slightly back to earth. Apparently she intended this to be pretty damn fast. But his willingness to give her whatever she needed notwithstanding, he definitely still drew the line somewhere. And that light buzzing told him she had just backed up and taken a running leap across that line. It also told him it was time to drop his last shred of prudishness in front of her and say whatever was necessary to take that thing's place permanently, even in absentia.

"Bones? What the hell is that?"

"I think you know exactly what it is, or you wouldn't have asked." Her words sounded as squinty-Brennan as ever, but her increasingly breathless tone gave her away: the buzzing sound he heard was beginning to do its job. Only he had just accepted that as _his_ job, and he didn't like being upstaged. She had called _him_ , damnit. Had asked for _his_ help, knowing full well there wasn't a chance in hell he'd actually tell her 'no' to anything, just so long as it wouldn't hurt her...especially not when she did such a fantastic job of making it clear it was his fault she was in this state to begin with. All of which meant he planned on being more than just a spectator with a front row seat for something that had little to do with him.

If she thought he was just going to sit back and passively listen while something else did the work for him, she was more wrong than she could imagine.

"Turn that off, Bones. Right now."

"Why?" she asked, and he could still hear that damn buzzing.

He licked his lips, squeezing the phone so hard he feared it would break, hoping that what she wanted from him was the same thing as what he wanted to give. Because he was about to go all in on this deal, and if he was wrong about what she really wanted from this he was about to either embarrass himself badly and get laughed at, or once again have pushed _way_ too hard. He almost felt lightheaded as he finally answered her.

"Because you asked for my help, so if you want me to be part of this it's going to be me that brings you off, not that thing. You're going to do this with nothing but your own fingers, exactly like I tell you to, and you're going to imagine they're mine while you do it."

Silence met his words, amplified only a couple seconds later when the buzzing abruptly stopped.

That sudden silence was what gave him all the power and let him know he had her - even when she protested on a frustrated whimper.

"M- but Booth, I don't know if I can. It's been quite an extended period of time since I've done this without the added stimulation of..."

"Oh yes, you can, Bones," he assured her, hoping like hell that he wasn't lying and that he could pull himself together enough to help. Because he had just put the responsibility squarely on his own shoulders, and it wasn't going to look very good for him if he couldn't deliver. And he'd be damned if she was turning back to that _thing_ tonight because Seeley Booth failed to satisfy. He might not be able to provide her the type of mental stimulation that gay-Jason had, but he'd logged enough hours thinking about every possible way he could make her come that he was pretty sure he could provide her plenty of mental stimulation of a different kind.

"Just be patient. We're gonna take this slow."

She groaned in frustration and he bit his lip and grinned despite his arousal, reading her mind - if he said the word 'slow' about one more thing, she was probably going to off him.

"First tell me what you're wearing, Bones." Okay, that was a selfish request that probably wasn't gonna help _her_ much, but he desperately wanted to know.

"Damnit, Booth..."

"That's not an article of clothing that I'm aware of, Bones," he told her, mimicking her best squinty tone and loving how completely _un_ -scientific she sounded in the throes of frustrated arousal. It was a side of her he definitely wanted to explore.

"Nothing," she fired back, challenge clear in her voice. "I'm naked. Well, other than the bubbles."

Well damn. She won that round. And she had to know it too, from his sharp inhalation of breath and sudden speechlessness as he imagined her wet, naked, and slippery in her bathtub with her fingers between her legs and his name on her lips, her hair piled up on top of her head and one leg thrown up on the...

"What are _you_ wearing?" she volleyed back at him before he could recover.

His answer was true by the time the last syllable made it across the phone lines to her ears. "Nothing."

There was a slight pause. "You sleep naked, Booth?"

"Mm-hm. Usually."

She made a contented sound. "That's how I've always imagined you sleeping."

His eyes fluttered and his hand gripped himself more tightly at that particular revelation, but he viciously brought himself back under control. It was time to get the whole conversation back under his own control too, but he was going to do it by giving her the illusion of having it herself.

"What else have you imagined, Bones? Tell me what you imagined the last time you screamed my name."

If the word 'cunnilingus' came out of her mouth again like when she fessed up to dreaming about him and feeling him up in his sleep...

But rather than words, all he heard was her irregular breathing and a little moan that went straight to his groin. "Bones. Answer me. Are you touching yourself right now?"

"Mm-hm." It was more of a long moan than an answer, and as usual he was left to wonder exactly who was in control of what.

"Stop." That was _definitely_ an order.

Only her whimper told him that she had obeyed. "Good. Now answer my question, and then I'll let you touch yourself. What did you imagine last time you screamed my name?"

He could imagine her with her eyes squeezed shut, her hand tightly gripping the edge of the tub as she fought to do as he asked. "Your tongue."

It sounded as though it had taken great effort to get that much out, but no way was he letting her get away with that. She loved so much to talk about sex with him - had been trying to get sexual conversation out of him and make him squirm for years. She was about to get her goddamn chance, both to get him to talk about sex with her and to be on the receiving end of the squirming.

"Where, Bones?"

"But you said..." she protested, and he cut her off.

"You're a best selling novelist for God's sake, so I know you can be more descriptive than that. I'll let you touch yourself when I'm happy with your answer. You imagined my tongue. Where?" Already, his hand was beginning to set up a slow rhythm, stroking himself and resisting the urge to speed up and push toward the finish line.

The frustrated sound she made went a long way toward telling him just how impatient she was. "Everywhere."

"Be specific, Bones."

"You told me today to always be as non-specific as possible."

God, she wanted to argue this point _now?_ Jesus. Only Bones. Even phone sex involved bickering.

"Yeah, with Angela. And Caroline. And your damn _dad._ Not with _me."_

 _"_ How specific do you want me to be?"

"Pretty damn specific. Like this, Bones. Which hand do you have the phone in?"

"Neither. I have the earpiece."

That almost brought a chuckle from him. Of course she was perfectly prepared. Why did he expect anything different? "Good girl. But you still only get one hand until I'm happy with your answer. Put your left hand on the edge of the tub and don't move it." He heard water moving around her, and knew she had obeyed. "Now take your right hand and play with your breasts. You pick which one first. Are your nipples hard for me?"

"Yesss," she whispered, sending another lightning bolt straight through him and making him have to concentrate on keeping things slow.

"Squeeze them, Bones, just like you know I would do. First one and then the other, with that one hand, but don't move the other hand off the tub. Nice and easy. Gentle, Bones. Don't you dare touch yourself anywhere else. Does that feel good?"

"M- I need more, Booth." Her voice was so breathy that he felt the heady sense of power shoot straight through him, making his cock swell and making him feel like a man through and through.

"You're going to get more, baby, just as soon as you answer my question. Where was my tongue, Bones? In your mouth?"

"Mmmm...yes, there too."

That made him smile with something resembling tenderness, but he kept it out of his voice as he rewarded her compliance. "Use both hands now, Bones. I want you to squeeze both nipples harder now and tell me where else you imagined my tongue."

"Boooth..." was her only reply, increasing the speed of his own hand on himself as he imagined her doing just exactly what he had instructed.

"Where else was my tongue, Bones? Answer me. Was my mouth on your breasts? Did I lick them? Did I pull your hard little nipples in my mouth and suck them?"

"Oh _God_ , Booth." She had obviously expected that she would be the one fully in control of this little game, and he could tell that despite her insistence that she hated surprises, finding out that he could take control and talk to her that way was a good one.

"How hard did I suck them, Bones? Just a little bit, so that you begged for more?"

She groaned in a way that let him know she was tugging on her nipples _hard_ , and let him know exactly what her answer would be. "Yes. And then hard...so hard."

Licking his lips, he realized that she had been right; this truly was a unique opportunity to test her limits from safely across town, without risking frightening her. And if he played his cards right, he could get her to tell _him_ without even really asking.

"Where are we while I'm licking your nipples, Bones? Tell me where we are and what our bodies are doing. Where do you want me?" He realized he was holding his breath waiting for her answer.

"Your bed. You're on top of me, Booth, and I want you there."

His eyes almost rolled back in his head. "Good answer, baby. Oh, God, Bones... Where are your hands? What are you doing with them while I'm sucking you?"

The erotic groan that came out of her was almost his undoing. "Nothing. They're over my head. You've got them stretched out over my head."

"Jesus, Bones." It was like she had picked the fantasy straight from his own mind. How many of their other fantasies were a perfect match for each other? The very thought had him gripping himself more tightly, beginning to pant with the effort it took not to go off like a rocket. He wanted her with him when he let go, and he wasn't ready to put an end to this yet.

It struck him that somewhere along the way they had stopped talking about her past fantasies and started talking present tense. And that was even better, because if the thought of him holding her arms down while he sucked her nipples for all he was worth could still turn her on post-Albania, that meant they'd get there one day. It still didn't mean he'd be jumping on top of her in bed and holding her arms down the very first time they made love or even the first 100 times - because clearly what she was comfortable with by phone when he was clear across town might be a little different in person - but it sure as hell increased his confidence that the day would come that he wouldn't have to hold back with her and he could make love to her with every bit of the passion he felt for her.

With another deep breath, he tried to keep her from hearing just how much she was affecting him, but the groan he barely managed to stifle probably gave her a clue. "Do you still want more, baby? Do you want me to touch you anywhere else?"

She had obviously lost none of her steep learning curve: she had already learned that specific was the way to go. "I want your fingers inside me, Booth. Right now."

Had she seen his predatory look, it might have helped push her a little farther along. "Then finish answering my question. Was my tongue anywhere else? Where was my tongue when you screamed my name, Bones?"

He had definitely made his point. "Between my legs. Teasing my clitoris. Sucking my clitoris. Inside me. Everywhere at once."

It was almost too much, his hips bucking up into his hand and his other hand fisting the sheets. "God, Bones, do you know how long I've waited to taste you?"

"Booth...please..."

'I want you to put one finger inside you, Bones, knuckle deep. Right hand. Keep your left hand right where it is on your nipple, and don't stop."

"Please let me..."

"I think about tasting you all the time, Bones," he admitted, voice hoarse and unable to stop his impromptu confession. "Last night, with you wet against my stomach? I could smell you, even over the strawberries. All I wanted was to get my tongue inside you and make you scream."

"BOOTH!"

"Push that finger all the way in, Bones, and then I want you to stroke yourself with it - in and out. Nice and slow. Don't touch your clit. Not yet. I'll tell you when."

She sounded ready to cry, and his own hand sped up again from where he had forced himself to back down the tempo. "Booth, I need to...I need you inside me."

He was getting dangerously close. "Add another finger, Bones, and pick up the pace. I want you to push them in as far as you can. Do you feel my fingers in you, baby?"

"Yes, Booth. Your...ah...your fingers - Booth - I love your fingers. They're so - oh! - so long. I can't wait to..."

If he let her keep going down that road, he was done for. Just knowing she had noticed the length of his fingers and had been thinking about them inside her was more than enough stimuli. He was already practically talking through clenched teeth, barely holding it together. "Me either, baby. And I will, soon. Bring your other hand down and touch your clit for me, now, Bones. You know that's my tongue on you, don't you?"

"Yessss...more, Booth. Harder..."

He was as out of breath as if he had just run a marathon. "Rub it hard, Bones. Tease it with your finger easy, and then rub it hard. Keep going with those two fingers inside you. Faster. Harder. You know I can do this for you, don't you, baby?"

"BOOTH...I'm CLOSE...oh, please..."

He gritted his teeth and just tried to hang on. "I didn't tell you to come yet, Bones. Keep going and answer my question. Do you know I can do this to you?"

The sound that came out of her mouth couldn't have passed for a word by anybody's definition, but he accepted it. He couldn't hold out any longer, either. His hips were bucking wildly into his hands and the pressure building up was more than he could bear. His own voice was so strained he hoped she could even understand him at that point.

"Are you ready, Temperance? Are you ready for me to make you come so hard?"

She whimpered plaintively, her breath coming in gasps in his ear, and he knew she was there. "Use your fingers, Bones, to feel what my mouth is doing to you. I'm going to suck on your clit hard, and you're going to keep fucking yourself with _my_ fingers while you come and scream my name. You're going to do it right..."

"BOOTH!"

" _Now_ , Bones! Come for me, right now."

His only regret was that he couldn't see her as she shattered with her fingers between her legs and his name on her lips; but he could certainly hear her, and it sent him over the edge right with her.

"Booth!" He could hear her breathing hard, gasping and moaning, and her cries mingled with his.

"Bones...I'm with you...I love you...Oh God, Bones..."

And then there was only the sound of both their labored breathing, and the low sound of Booth's television playing in the background.

… ooo … ooo …

Breathing eventually returned to something near normal on both ends of the phone line. But although he should have been relaxed and ready to fall asleep, now that the heat of the moment had passed there were so many thoughts racing through Booth's mind that he didn't even know where to start. The only thing he was sure of was that he needed to get her talking before she could hastily hang up on him and leave him to spend a sleepless night tormenting himself about whether he had crossed the line in any way - well, whether he had crossed any of _her_ lines, anyway. He'd pretty much obliterated all of his, though it really shouldn't have surprised him that she was capable of getting him to do so, and so very, very easily. It seemed there was very little she couldn't get him to do. Strangely, he didn't even mind.

"Bones?" he tried softly, his voice infinitely tender.

"Hm?"

Well that didn't tell him much. God, he was as tired of asking this question as she probably was of answering it, but he was going to ask it yet again - _had_ to ask it again - because he just couldn't shake his long-standing fears that she'd run from him after a moment of intimacy; even one over the phone. And over the phone was possibly even worse, because she wasn't even within reach where he could stop her from running out without talking to him. She might have been the one with the deep-seated abandonment issues, but ironically he was the one most in need of reassurance.

"Are you all right?"

"Mm-hm." He heard a long, contented sigh escape her lips and cross the phone line into his ears by way of answer, but even as reassuring as that was he still just wanted to hear her _voice._ He waited patiently - or at least he thought he did - for all of another five seconds afterward. In anticipation, he raised up on an elbow, pressing the phone closer to his ear as though he might gain a clue to her mental state if he just listened a little more closely to her breathing.

"Bones? Maybe you could actually say something right now, huh?"

"Oh. Okay." There was a second's pause as she obviously tried to formulate a statement. "The water's getting cold."

His eyes rolled skyward with the realization that his always just-below-the-surface mild desire to shake her had returned full force less than two minutes after the euphoria of 'mutual gratification' with her had begun to fade. Sure, she sounded all satisfied, happy, and even mildly dazed, all of which pleased him to no end, but he was looking for a little more than that.

"Not exactly the response I was hoping for, Bones. You're kinda killing me here."

There was a brief pause, and he could almost picture her looking confused as she tried to figure out what he wanted. It was enough to make him decide to just give up, relax - since she obviously didn't plan to hang up on him and jump a plane for East Lactobaskinstangolia or someplace at that exact moment - and just start the entire conversation over.

"You know what? Never mind. I just wish you were here with me right now," he told her instead, dropping back onto his back and throwing his arm over his eyes, his voice deep and gritty with both exhaustion and emotion.

He had never heard her post-orgasm voice either, he realized, as he listened to her slightly deeper tone slide richly around his eardrum through the phone line; that realization gave him just a twinge of regret that this was all happening with them separated. He didn't get to dwell on it, though, once her actual words started to sink in.

"I agree. But even if I was, Booth, it wouldn't matter. The average refractory period after orgasm for a male of your age would almost certainly prevent..."

That popped his eyes open and stopped his impending relaxation pretty effectively. "Whoa! Stop! Stop right there." At least he didn't want to shake her anymore. On the down side, he was quickly developing a desire to strangle her. "That is _not_ what I meant."

With a sigh, he brought the sharpness in his tone down a couple of notches, reminding himself that it really wasn't her fault that pretty much every other bastard who'd ever gotten her into their beds had taught her to believe that once they climaxed, that was the end of intimacy until they could get it up again. Their loss, his gain, but they would all still be much better off not to ever cross paths with him.

Steeling his nerves, he readied himself for the argument that was sure to ensue about how absolutely unnecessary and needlessly sentimental his next statement was going to be. But first things first...

"First of all, jeez, I'm not that old, and you might just be surprised." Male pride taken care of, he got around to his _real_ point. "But that's not why I wish you were here with me, Bones. I just want you here right now so I can _hold_ you. I never thought this would happen this way, and no, I don't regret it _at all_ , but I do still wish that I could go to sleep now with my arms around you and wake up the same way. You deserve that. We both do."

To his utter surprise, an argument wasn't what he got. After a few silent seconds of listening to her breathing, which he thought might have picked up slightly in pace, the sudden sounds of light splashing and water moving around told him that she had just sat straight up.

"I could be at your apartment in 20 minutes," she told him quietly, seriously - a seriousness that surprised him. But the mildly uncertain vulnerability in her voice - almost a questioning tone - had him clenching his teeth not to give her the first answer that screamed through his brain...

 _God, yes._

God yes, except for the fact that it was the middle of the night, and there was some bastard out there messing with her - some bastard that Booth didn't trust not to do anything stupid, like trying to approach her and ending up with a former Army Ranger sniper on his trail so fast his head would spin. Not that he'd be difficult to track, because Bones would probably have both the guy's legs broken before Booth could even assemble his rifle. But still. It was the principle of the matter - Seeley Booth was a gentleman, and gentlemen don't ask the women they love to drive across town alone in the middle of the night to come to _them._ Even though the woman in question could probably kick _his_ butt on a really good day.

So on a long sigh, he gave the answer he least wanted to give. "No, Bones. You have no idea how bad I want you to. But no. If Parker wasn't here I'd come to you, but I can't. Don't leave your apartment tonight. Please."

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

She paused a beat, just long enough for him to foolishly expect another heart-melting response like the last one. He should have known better.

"That's sexist and somewhat insulting. I've trekked through the Tibetan jungles alone. I'm perfectly capable of venturing out at night without male protection."

A smug grin slowly spread across his face as he realized that he'd actually already won this war. It hadn't exactly escaped his notice that while she had given the expected argument against his old-fashioned protective notions, she hadn't even batted an eye about him wanting to hold her all night after 'sex.' In fact, she'd all but jumped at the chance. Not that he was stupid enough to point that out...

But he'd definitely won the war. Because if she planned on letting him hold her in his arms to sleep after he made love to her - like he planned to do every night for the rest of his life once they got through this - she'd be protected anyway. The argument was a moot point.

Of course, although the war might have been won, he still needed to finish this particular battle. He didn't want her out running around by herself.

"I know you can, Bones," he soothed. "But don't you think Parker might be a little curious how you just suddenly appeared in my bed in the middle of the night after you already told him you weren't sleeping over?"

To be honest, Parker probably wouldn't care one little bit so long as he still got bacon, eggs and donuts for breakfast. And yes, playing the concerned father card was somewhat manipulative. But if it kept her in her apartment behind her locked door where nobody outside could get to her while his hands were figuratively tied, then he didn't feel too bad about it.

"Oh." It was that prim, proper little 'oh' that only popped its head up when she had been outmaneuvered but wasn't entirely sure she wanted to admit it. It was so cute that it made him bite his lip to hold in his chuckle. Not that he was stupid enough to mention _that,_ either. "Yes, of course."

"Hey, Bones?"

"Yes?"

"This might be the wrong thing to say, but..." The words had just started spilling across his lips before he really thought them through. He realized with a sudden and almost painful stab that he might should have kept it to himself, but there wasn't any going back now. She'd never let it rest until he told her after hearing _that_ lead-in, and while he might be willing to manipulate a little bit for her safety's sake, he still wasn't going to flat-out lie to her. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage and finished. "I really want to be in the same room with you next time we do that."

He realized he wasn't breathing while he waited for her to reply. But of course he was going to get to say it again, because she took him literally.

"You want to have phone sex while in the same room? That seems...redundant."

"No! I meant..." He didn't even _know_ what he meant, other than that he just needed to suck it up and spit it out plainly, which he would really try to do if she'd just stop talking.

"Or are you suggesting that the next step should be mutual masturbation, wherein we would each independently manually stimulate ourselves to orgasm while watching one another?"

How did things like that roll off her tongue so easily? He turned red just thinking about it, even if that mental image coming out of her pretty little mouth _did_ start the process of disproving her data on refractory periods for males of his age. It wasn't like the thought of watching her pleasure herself had never even crossed his mind. Not that, once again, he was stupid enough to mention that either. Again, he took a deep breath, sincerely hoping he wasn't about to be coming on too strong.

The thought had occurred to him on more than one occasion that his own reluctance to move forward might actually be part of the reason she seemed so comfortable pursuing an advance in their sexual relationship. She had all the control, and she had been the aggressor at every turn, just as he had once discussed with Sweets. Even what had just happened had been because she pushed for it.

Frankly, even after all they had done, he was more than a little terrified to topple that delicate balance and make even _one_ first move, or reveal to her what _he_ wanted physically, or even give in too quickly to anything she pursued. But the relative safety of the phone as opposed to being in the same room with her emboldened him, just as it had a few minutes earlier.

Closing his eyes and praying he wasn't making a mistake, he took a gamble.

"No, Bones. I mean that next time we...next time we, you know, do that, I want it to be for real. You know?" He had started this now, and he was going to finish it. He sure as hell wasn't leaving room for her to misunderstand, not when he had come this far. "I want us to really touch each other. I want it to really be my fingers, my tongue touching you...inside you. I want it to be... Bones, I want to make love to you."

He heard her shaky intake of breath...

And he panicked. He didn't even give her time to answer. He just completely _panicked._

Backpedaling hard, he sat bolt upright and backtracked to the last possibility _she_ had brought up, no matter how red it was going to make him if that's what she wanted. At the moment, anything seemed safer than what he had just suggested. If anybody had told him three weeks earlier that he'd voluntarily even discuss a topic like mutual masturbation with her, he'd have told them they were crazy.

"But if..." he stammered, hoping she couldn't hear the blind terror in his voice that he had just scared her off, and praying he wouldn't hear the click of the phone disconnecting. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she ran from him now. "I mean, Bones, if you'd rather… if that's what you want, then - then I'll do whatever you need me to next time. I will. If you need me in the room with you but not touching you... and if you need me to - well, you know - then...I will, Bones. I'll do that." He paused for a half second, but she still didn't speak, so his panicked backpedaling took a step further back. "Or not. I mean, I'll do it if you _want_ me to, but not if...if you don't." Mentally, he was trying to make sure he had covered all the bases in that rambling recant, his ears and neck burning like fire.

She sounded a little strange to him when she answered, but he couldn't read her. He was way, way too worried about her response to accurately get a read on her without projecting his own worries.

"It _would_ be a rational next step prior to attempting intercourse, allowing for mutual gratification in one another's physical presence without actual physical contact."

"Okay," he agreed quickly, face flaming, more mortified at having pushed too hard than he could ever be at the thought of giving her what she needed. His heart was still thudding in his chest at an alarming rate of speed. That had been way too close. What had made him think it was okay to start making demands like that? "Bones, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you if you're not ready for..."

"But it's not what I want either," she cut him off, ignoring his interruption as she continued, and probably just slightly oblivious to exactly how hard her next words were going to hit the man who would rather cut off his own arm than hurt her.

Her voice was full of certainty, underscored by just a hint of something resembling shyness as she spoke words she had never thought to hear come out of her mouth - at least not until one seemingly ordinary night at the diner when Seeley Booth had made sure and certain that 'making love' was a concept that would fascinate her and draw her with an almost magnetic pull until she experienced it for herself.

"I want it to be real too, Booth. We agreed to two dinner dates before moving forward. But after the second one...I think - I want you to make love to me."

His breath left him all in a _whoosh_. He had not even _considered_ it being that soon, even with what he had just said. _"Bones..."_ he whispered, almost reverently. "I - are you sure?" Suddenly, the prospect terrified him far more than it had probably ever terrified her, and he was urgently desperate to see her face and look in her eyes. All of the bridges they hadn't yet crossed flashed through his mind's eye, giving him even more to worry about. "We haven't even...I mean what if..."

Her almost shy tone disappeared in favor of her normal matter-of-fact squint voice, now that she had something to dispute him about. "I haven't had a fearful reaction to you in quite some time now, Booth."

That dragged him back to earth pretty fast. "Haven't had - Bones, for God's sake, what about today! I saw your face. You were right back there in that room, and you scared me half to death!" The memory slammed into his chest like a brick, and he went into full scale retreat mode. "No. This is a bad idea. It's too soon to even try. No way."

"Yes, Booth. I did have a flashback today, but it certainly wasn't about you," she rebutted calmly. "When the officer applied the handcuffs, it caused a strong memory of my captivity in Albania prior to your arrival. Aside from the first few days after our return, most of my flashbacks have revolved around Edon abducting and binding me, and my captivity in the warehouse bed. They have had little to do with you in any role other than my rescuer, and in fact have had nothing to do with sexual assault. They have centered mostly upon being trapped and restrained, which is entirely different. In my discussion with Dr. Wyatt, he caused me to understand the distinction and possible triggers."

Booth opened his mouth to protest and then immediately closed it as he realized that both she and Gordon-Gordon were right. Just because something caused a fear response in her didn't automatically make it his fault, no matter how much he might like to blame himself. And other than that incident in her motel room, even the times she had reacted fearfully to him he had been blocking her in somehow or approaching too quickly when she had nowhere to go - and several of those times while they were arguing. Actually, other than the motel room, she hadn't really tensed up even once when they had kissed or touched in a romantic way...

But on the other hand, what if the only reason she _hadn't_ had any flashbacks about him hurting her was because he had been so extremely cautious not to do anything that could trigger one? Every single first move had been made by her, and he hadn't even agreed too readily to her advances. How could he be sure that the very first time he started something himself it wasn't going to send her mind right back to that godforsaken bed in Albania with him holding her down and making her think he was about to hurt her?

And then there were her nightmares, which were an entirely different creature and which he damn sure _knew_ still involved 'sexual assault' as she so clinically put it.

And yet...this was what she wanted. She wanted _him_ , and she wanted to restore normalcy to that area of her life. How could he continue to deny her what she wanted and even needed?

He drew a deep, almost shaky breath. This wasn't a decision he was making this time of night after all that had just happened. There was no way he could think clearly with two all-too-fresh and all-too-contradictory memories warring for dominance in his mind and pulling him in opposite directions: first, her face as she flashed back when the officer cuffed her; but then second, her voice crying his name through the phone lines as she came apart imagining him touching her. Each was too powerful, too swaying, too much too ignore. And he had too much riding on this decision to hastily choose one and make her a promise that risked signing the death warrant on his relationship with the one woman he wanted to have for the rest of his life.

"Listen, Bones. Let me think about that, okay?"

He could almost see her frown. "You're the one who suggested it, Booth."

"I know what I said. But I didn't necessarily mean quite that soon, Bones. I'm not saying no, okay? I just...let me think about this and figure out how I want to go about it, all right? And in the meantime, you're still going to be seeing Dr. Wyatt?"

"Twice a week."

He expelled every ounce of the air in his lungs, more nervous than he had been in a while. "Good. That's good, Bones. I think that'll help."

She sighed into the phone, a sleepy, relaxed sound, resigned to the fact that nothing would be resolved that night. "I should go to sleep, Booth, and you probably should as well. You have to take Parker to school in the morning."

He nodded distractedly until he remembered she couldn't see him. "Yeah..." He reluctantly agreed. "You're right. Are you sure everything's okay? Your doors are locked?"

"I'm fine," she assured him. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?" It was a question and a statement all wrapped in one.

"You know you will," he gently scolded, and then hesitated, unwilling to let her go. "I love you, Bones. You know that right?"

Longing filled him as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He knew she didn't always repeat it; he 'got' her, and most of the time he didn't even need it. Just so long as she showed him, he was happy. But tonight, he needed to hear it. Desperately.

"I know," she answered quickly, and then hesitated. And then she set his heart pounding in happy reassurance. It was going to be the longest 'I love you too' he had ever heard, but he wouldn't have traded one squinty word.

"And although you've given no indications that your feelings have changed, you continue to tell me. While that seems redundant, I've found..." She paused, with him hanging on her every word, but he waited patiently with the full knowledge that she would finish. She did, with only a hint of awkward, rushed vulnerability. "I've found that I like hearing it. And based on that, considering that you are the more emotionally oriented of the two of us, I've concluded that you most likely have a strong desire to hear it in return, despite the fact that my feelings have also not changed. Am I correct, Booth?"

"Yeah," he rasped, unable to say more around the lump in his throat. God, he loved this woman. He swallowed hard, never wishing harder that she was within reach. "Yeah. That's right."

"I love you."

He breathed deeply, fighting for control, not daring to give voice to any of the million responses that immediately bubbled up in his throat. Even if she liked hearing he loved her, it'd probably scare the hell out of her exactly how _much_ and how passionately he loved her, right then and always. Hell, it scared _him_. And right along with that love, fierce protectiveness swelled up forcefully.

"Bones, promise you'll call me if anything happens tonight - I mean _anything_. You hear me? A flashback, a nightmare, a knock on your door - I want to know about it."

She agreed, and all too quickly she was getting ready to hang up. "Good night, Booth."

"G'nite, Bones."

It didn't take him long to realize that trying to sleep was ludicrous when all he could think about was should he or should he not agree to try to make love to his beautiful partner for the first time after their second date.

… ooo … ooo …

He dragged poor, grumbling Parker out of bed bright and early the next morning, an hour and a half earlier than he had originally planned, having come to a conclusion about his next step and needing to put it into place early. He had already made several phone calls, and also already had a huge breakfast made for the sleepy little boy, who after his first donut quickly warmed to the idea of helping his dad engineer a surprise for Bones in her office before school. After all, Parker liked surprises. Didn't everybody? And he liked being part of surprises too - he had learned that about himself when he helped his dad give Bones a Christmas tree one year.

By the time Booth bundled him out the door, Parker was chattering excitedly, never dreaming that his dad could possibly be way more excited about this particular surprise than he was.

… ooo … ooo …

Brennan was a little surprised when a bleary-eyed Angela showed up at her door bright and early the next morning - and just a little jumpy when the doorbell first rang, despite the fact that she'd never have admitted it.

"Ange?" she asked, after checking the peephole and quickly opening the door. "What are you doing here? It's 6:00 A.M. I was just about to leave for work."

"Coffee." That cryptic reply came as Angela all but staggered through her front door into her living room.

Brennan closed the door behind her. "You came here for...coffee? Don't you have any at home?"

Angela glared at her. "Nuh-uh, Brennan. It's way too early for you to be you. We're going to _get_ coffee. Right now."

"I've already had coffee."

"Shut up, Bren," Angela replied, without any real venom. "I'm playing the best friend card. You have to just go along with me on this one. I'm driving. You're coming with me. We're going to get coffee. I'm going to _drink_ coffee. You can either drink coffee or not. I don't care."

"What's going on?" Brennan asked suspiciously.

"Coffee. Now."

… ooo … ooo …

Angela eventually coaxed Brennan into her car, cutting off any and all protests about getting to work on time. After the third cup of coffee Angela slowly downed at the diner while Brennan waited, impatiently checking her watch, Angela finally peered out the window straining to see something.

"All right, Bren. I think I'm good now. You want me to take you home to get your car?"

It wasn't exactly a textbook example of subtlety, nor had it been intended to be, and Brennan whirled around to look in the direction Angela had just been staring.

"Was that Booth's truck? And was that Parker's arm waving out the window?"

"Of _course_ not, sweetie." Angela's voice was absolutely dripping with sarcasm, but as usual Brennan missed it completely.

"Oh. Then what were you looking at?"

Angela just shook her head. She had no idea why Booth had woken her from a perfectly delicious dream by making her phone scream at her at 5:00 in the morning, and no idea why he had all but begged her to keep Brennan out of her office until she saw him drive past the diner. She really just wanted to go home and sleep. But if he had filled Brennan's office with something spectacular, there better at least be a box with a pair of diamond earrings on her own chair, or she'd probably kill them both. Once she had a nap.

… ooo … ooo …

All of her irritation about being late was forgotten the moment Brennan impatiently pushed open her office door and flicked the light.

In fact, she had to laugh out loud. Angela wasn't the only one who had chosen to forego subtlety that morning. In fact, Angela wasn't even in the running with Booth on that one; and Brennan didn't need a card to tell her that she had pushed Booth over the edge in more ways than one the night before. Her only question was where Booth had managed to find a 24-hour florist, but even that didn't really surprise her. Sometimes she thought he could do anything. Knowing him, he'd had them on standby for days.

Her office had turned into a daffodil. An astronomical number of...ahem, a _lot_ of daffodils.

Everywhere. Strewed in her chair, across her desk, her couch, arranged around the knickknacks on her shelves, even lining a pathway across her floor to her desk.

There was even one sticking out of the skull that sat on the shelf behind her desk...which was how she came to the conclusion that he might possibly have had some help. Jasper and Brainy Smurf, from their perches on her desk, even each held a daffodil; that, she was pretty sure, was the older Booth's doing. And the jury was still out on the flower in the skull...could've been the older or younger version.

There wasn't a daisy in sight.

She had to bite her lip to hold back the smile when she saw the bright yellow envelope sticking up out of the one truly massive arrangement on her desk, huge arrows pointing all around to the rather large words written in thick, bright red marker across the center of it: "READ ME!"

Where he had found a white flag she wasn't sure, but a medium sized one stuck up from the center of the arrangement, just slightly taller than the flowers around it, signaling his surrender. She supposed she'd have to read the card to find out exactly what he was surrendering to, although the lack of any daisies gave her a pretty good idea.

Her eyes next tracked upward, above the vase, her smile growing as she followed the string hanging from her ceiling down to a huge sign hung directly over the vase, written in childish scrawl that she immediately knew was Parker's doing, at his dad's verbatim instruction.

 _"Bones! Read the card this time!"_ Huge arrows pointed down from the sign as well.

He needn't have worried. She planned to make a beeline for the card this time.

Quickly, she turned to close her door to keep anyone else from coming in before she was ready to explain the garden in her office, and this time there was no holding back the laughter. Attached to the back of her door was yet another sign, written in bright red marker, each small sentence on a different numbered line. This handwriting was more adult, if only slightly, and she was very familiar with it.

 _"Stop. Do not open door. Turn around. Walk to desk. Remove card._ _Read_ _card. Don't leave. Call Booth."_

Feeling more like it was Christmas morning than she had since she was 14, she crossed her office in two steps. Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out a duplicate of the first card, a gorgeous field of daffodils on the front with a blank inside.

Only this time, only a few lines of script were neatly scrawled onto the blank inside the card:

 _"I think it's safe to say we blew something-in-between right out of the water last night. So I'm not doing this backwards anymore. I'll be at your apartment at 7:00, and I'm taking you to dinner tonight. Date number one, Bones. Traditionally ends with a kiss. I can't wait. -Booth"_

… ooo … ooo … ooo

A few doors away in the Jeffersonian, another woman was smiling and resisting the temptation to barge into Brennan's office and see for herself what the most too-good-to-be-true man she'd ever had the pleasure of knowing had done with the time she had sacrificed sleep to buy him.

As she considered that, Angela spun the pretty yellow friendship rose round and round in her hands, smiling at the attached note that she was pretty sure baby-Booth had written for his dad: _'Thank you..for everything.'_

TO BE CONTINUED…


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Although she had received no physical stimuli that should have caused such a reaction, a slight shiver of anticipation ran down Brennan's spine as she reread Booth's words and his promise of their first date that night.

She had thought perhaps the card would give some indication of his decision concerning the previous night's discussion about what would or would not happen after their _second_ date, but it was stubbornly silent on the matter. Remembering his instructions on the door to call him after reading the card, she pulled out her cell and quickly dialed his number.

Her very excited partner answered the phone, but not in the manner she had expected.

"Bones! I was just about to call you. I've got him!"

It hadn't been the direction she expected, so it threw her off track. "Who?"

"Nicholas Stallings, the guy from the club. We've got him, Bones. Caroline just got his phone records, home and cell, first thing this morning and I've been going through them. There are no calls from your home, cell or office, and..."

"I was already aware that I didn't call him, Booth," she cut in and informed him, completely unimpressed.

"Would you let me finish? There aren't even any payphone calls made to him since the incident at the nightclub, so he can't claim you called him that way. I cross-referenced the dates and times he referenced in the report, all the times he said you threatened him. I can disprove every one of them, Bones. He didn't receive _any_ calls anywhere close to the times he gave, and you were either on your phone, at the lab, or with me for each one of the dates and times he said you threatened him in person. There's no possible way you could have done anything that he said."

"Yes. As I stated, I know I didn't do it. Why is the FBI investigating this?"

He sounded a little exasperated. "The FBI isn't, Bones. _I_ am. Just think of me as your own personal private investigator this week," he finished, having gone in a few words from sounding exasperated to boyishly proud of himself - and clearly expecting her to help stroke his ego. She reacted...well, like usual.

"I didn't hire you."

"Bones!"

"I hope you aren't expecting a large retainer."

" _Bones!"_ He sounded like he wanted to strangle her. "Do you do this on purpose?"

"What?" she asked innocently, but with the full knowledge that she was pushing his metaphorical buttons. Somehow, with all of the changes in their relationship, it was strangely familiar and comforting that she could still goad him into bickering with her. As she literally stood in an office that had been turned into a garden of flowers, it was somehow reassuring to her that their interactions hadn't changed completely - she _needed_ them not to change completely.

She heard him sigh loudly in her ear. "You're impossible, Bones. I haven't even told you the best part yet, and you've ruined it," he sulked.

At least he had her attention now. "The best part? What - wait, what's the best part?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I'm not telling you now."

"Booth!"

"You didn't hire me, remember, Bones?"

"Now you're just being childish," she informed him, with a superior tone that clearly conveyed she didn't find her own actions childish at all.

She wasn't sure if he was truly pouting or if he was just trying to push _her_ metaphorical buttons now, but either way she believed she knew how to make him stop.

"Booth?"

Another tortured sigh. "What, Bones?"

"I'm in my office."

"Yeah?" he asked, brightening immediately.

"Yes," she confirmed, maddeningly refusing to elaborate. "I am."

He didn't let it get to him that time. "So did I get my point across?"

She smiled, softening. "Most definitely. They're beautiful, Booth."

"So you read the card this time?" he pressed. "Y'know, without me having to conduct an intervention?"

"Card?"

"Bones..." he rumbled, a warning sound.

"Where are we going?" she relented, letting him know that she had not only read the card, but was happily accepting his dinner 'invitation.'

"It's a surprise," he told her with every bit of his earlier boyish excitement back in his voice, drawing an answering smile from her that she couldn't entirely suppress from her voice despite her negative words.

"I hate surprises."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Nope. I know better. It doesn't matter, Bones. I'm not telling you anything. Just be ready at 7:00."

"Fine. I accept those terms and I'll be ready at 7:00, _if_ you'll tell me what you meant by 'the best part.'"

There was a shocked pause, followed by a sound of disbelief. "Unbelievable. Now you're _blackmailing_ me about our _first date?_ "

Another slight pause, as she thought about it. "Yes."

He heaved a long-suffering sigh, no doubt considering himself as a candidate for eventual sainthood. "Fine. When you and Clark said Stallings' broken arm could have possibly come from a motorcycle accident, I did some checking. There _is_ a motorcycle registered in his name, and guess what, Bones?"

"I prefer not to guess."

"He wrecked it the same night you slugged him, several hours later, in Arlington. I found an accident report through the Virginia Highway Patrol confirming that, and that the motorcycle was towed to a nearby body shop. Apparently his blood alcohol was just below the legal limit by that point, so he wasn't arrested for DUI. Stallings complained of an injured arm at the scene and was transported by ambulance to the hospital in Arlington. But by the time he got there he had done a complete 180, suddenly refused treatment, and was released."

Now he truly had her attention. "That doesn't make any sense, Booth. He provided the D.C. police with medical records from Georgetown University Hospital, which confirm that he was treated for a broken arm he claimed he sustained in a fight."

"I know, Bones. I compared the times from the accident report against the records from Georgetown. He was released from Arlington almost 2 hours before he turned up at Georgetown on his own. I'm thinking that somewhere during that ambulance ride, he realized that his broken arm might be worth a lot of money and that's why he suddenly refused treatment and went to a completely different hospital with a completely different story. Then he went to the police station a few days later to file a report, armed with his X-rays and medical paperwork to back up his story. He's never been in trouble with the law at all, so I'm sure he thought that was enough to confirm his story. He probably wasn't expecting them to ask so many detailed questions about dates and times when he decided to up the ante by claiming you threatened him, so he just panicked and made it all up on the spot."

It was Brennan's turn to sigh, feeling very tired all of a sudden. She hadn't eaten breakfast, and she suddenly felt a little dizzy. "So what happens now?" she asked, her voice sounding a little tight - enough to send up Booth's antennae.

"Bones? Hey, I know this is a lot to take in after everything we've been through, but I've _got_ him, okay? There should be an arrest warrant by this afternoon so the police can pick him up. I already called Caroline, and she's pretty sure she can have all charges against you dropped this morning with what I have. She's also going to push for every single charge she can possibly drum up against Stallings. Caroline and I will both talk to the prosecutor and do everything we can to keep him behind bars as long as possible, and she's even going to push for a restraining order against him so that he knows what will happen if he comes near you when he gets out. It's over, Bones. This guy may be an idiot, but he's not _that_ stupid; once he's arrested, it's over - he isn't gonna bother you anymore."

She needed to sit down, but there was nowhere that wasn't covered by daffodils. Suddenly Edon Tolka and Nicholas Stallings were getting just a little too mixed up in her head...she couldn't think of one without picturing the other. "I'm fine. I'm not afraid of him."

That same tight sound was in her voice, and Booth was starting to get a little worried. "Bones, are you sure you're okay? Listen, I know we're going out tonight, but have lunch with me today. I can come by early, say 11:00?"

"I can't."

"Bones," he started a little impatiently, mostly because he felt a little helpless and a little guilty for hitting her with everything like that when she probably had least expected it. By the time he continued, he'd taken the edge out of his voice. "Don't start shutting me out. Please."

"I'm not. I'm meeting Dr. Wyatt for lunch."

"Oh." An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and finally he sighed when his eyes landed on the clock and he realized he was already late to a briefing. "All right, Bones. Look...I don't want to, but I've got to go. I'm sorry. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay."

He hesitated, not wanting to end the connection, but there was really no choice in the matter. "Tell Gordon-Gordon I said hello, all right? I love you."

… ooo … ooo …

Through the rest of his very busy, very hurried afternoon, Booth alternately looked forward to their date with nervous apprehension and stewed over her reaction on the phone.

But their date was never very far from his mind.

He had no idea what she planned to wear - or even if _she_ had given any thought to that question. He had purposely not told her how to dress or even given her an idea. Maybe he was setting himself up for disappointment, but he had never forgotten seeing her get so dressed up over the years for other guys - like her black dress and heels for cult-recruiter-David, which he had seen when she came to visit him in the hospital after Kenton tried to kill her; he had felt his sore insides flip over with the realization of what her nice clothes meant - and that they had nothing to do with him. That entire debacle had been made even worse by that bandage on her forehead that she'd have never had if he hadn't handed her over to a killer; never had he felt so much like he'd never deserve her.

And then there had been that amazing dress she had worn in Sweets' office after the deep-sea welder and gay-Jason had both rejected her, hugging every curve of her body in a way that left him wondering how anybody could _ever_ reject her in any way.

And yet none of it had ever been for him, even if both of those times he had ended up being the one to spend the evening with her.

Even the time that he might have been able to imagine it was for him - when he had rented the finest tux money could rent just because she wanted him there with her when she received some prestigious award, cheerily ignoring and saying to hell with the fact that she'd invited everybody else she knew too - he hadn't even got to see her until she was disheveled from hours of _not_ attending her dinner while she searched for him. And she'd _still_ never been more gorgeous than when she grabbed him on that helicopter. Damnit. There had to be a special place in hell for the freakin' Gravedigger.

But this time, he hoped she'd dress up that way with him in mind.

 _For_ him.

All his.

Of course, he'd love her just as much if she opened her door in her work clothes or her jeans...but he still wanted to see what she'd decide without any influence from him, and he still hoped for what he hoped for.

His afternoon went by in a flash of hurried meetings, last minute paperwork against a deadline, and dealing with various problems. Through the middle of it all, he played phone tag with her voice mail as well, each of them missing the other throughout their afternoon's responsibilities until it was eventually a little too close to date time to call her again anyway. It was time to just go home, get ready, show up and hope for the best.

By 6:30, he had showered, carefully pressed and donned his best black dress pants and crisp white shirt left slightly open at the collar, splashed on as much cologne as he dared, grabbed the things he'd got her on his way home, and was ready to walk out his door when his phone finally rang.

To his disappointment, it wasn't his date. It was Caroline. And she certainly wasn't calling to set his already keyed-up nerves at ease.

Caroline wanted him to be first to know that there was a warrant for Stallings' arrest for the false report he'd filed, along with a few other charges pending. She also wanted him to be first to know that Stallings hadn't been picked up on it yet, mostly because he hadn't showed up for work that morning and police had found no trace of him at his apartment.

Alarm bells started going off in Booth's head immediately.

Even as he thanked Caroline and asked her to keep him informed, he had already turned around and started striding back to his bedroom. Once there, he flipped his phone shut, strapped on his shoulder holster, and efficiently checked his weapon. He already wore an ankle holster beneath his pants leg, and really hadn't planned on packing anything else, considering he had really hoped for Brennan's arms to be wrapped tight around him at some point during the evening and he didn't want anything in the way. But next to her safety, that seemed pretty trivial. Throwing on his nicest black sports coat to hide the holster, he quickly left his apartment, the knowledge that Stallings knew he'd been busted and was on the run making Booth even more eager to get to her place as quickly as he could.

In record time and with complete rebellion against any and all traffic laws, he was soon standing at her door with a single daffodil tied with a red ribbon in his hands, his coat pocket filled with one other thing he intended to give her when her inevitable question finally popped out of her mouth - something which he hoped would happen later in the date rather than sooner.

… ooo … ooo …

The deep breath he took before ringing her doorbell didn't really do him much good when that door swung open and revealed the most gorgeous sight he'd ever seen in his life.

He hadn't needed to worry about whether she intended to dress up for him. Softly curled hair fell and brushed against the barely-there straps of a deep-red dress that reminded him vaguely of the black dress he'd bought her in Vegas when they'd gone undercover as Tony and Roxie. But aside from the teeny-tiny straps that Booth immediately fixated on and started envisioning himself pushing down over her creamy shoulders, the rest of the dress was actually probably more conservative than the Vegas dress - and yet, in a maddeningly contradictory way, 1000 times sexier. Just the tiniest hint of cleavage peeked at him from the intricate lacework that edged only the slightly scooped neckline, the bodice traveling down and giving way to a just-tight-enough waist that highlighted her curves without squeezing too tightly. From the fitted waist fell the straight skirt, ending just above her knee with a tiny flare that he knew was going to drive him nuts every time she took a step. And of course, never being one to forget a promise, she had topped it all off with the red heels she had teased him about several days earlier, the ones she'd threatened to throw away when he teasingly told her he liked his women in gum boots. God, was he glad she hadn't taken him literally. He'd expected them to be bright fire-engine red, too, but they weren't - they were the same deep red as her dress, almost a wine color.

That huge breath Booth had sucked in suddenly left him, in one huge exhalation that turned into a low, quiet whistle before it died out completely. The smooth greeting that he had planned never saw the light of day.

"Whoa - wow...Bones..."

"Is my attire appropriate for our surprise plans?" Every trace of the discomfort he had picked up from her over the phone earlier had vanished, and she seemed completely relaxed and just a bit smug about his reaction.

He didn't care. Any woman that opened the door looking like _that_ deserved to gloat over leaving a guy just a little slack-jawed. "If it's not, I'll change 'em. Wow...Bones..."

Her happy eyes told him he'd reacted properly, despite her unaffected words. "You said that. Do you intend to come in, or is your surprise that you simply intend to stand in my hallway all evening?"

Clearing his throat, he reminded himself that, mind-boggling red dress or not, this was still Bones and if he didn't want her to have the upper hand all night he'd better get it together. "Only if you intend to _leave_ me standing in the hallway all night. It's a first date, Bones. Customarily, guys wait for an invitation before we come barging in."

To his delight, she colored slightly as she stepped aside and motioned him in. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one with a little case of the first-date jitters. She looked like she had no idea what to do with her hands after she closed the door and turned back to face him, settling for smoothing them over the skirt of her dress several times, as though he really _needed_ his attention directed at her mile-long legs. "You look very nice as well, Booth. And the fragrance of your cologne is most appealing."

It was a slightly awkward, stilted compliment, but it made his day nonetheless. But two of those words - the "as well" part - reminded him that he hadn't truly complimented her appearance properly yet. Obviously his bumbling greeting had given her the general idea, but he didn't intend to leave it at that. Surely he could come up with better than a 'wow' with his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a drooling idiot. So he approached her, holding out the flower like a peace offering, and offered it to her as he leaned in to brush a quick kiss on her cheek, his eyes sparkling happily. "You're absolutely gorgeous, Temperance."

Her cheeks pinked up even a little more, and he wished that he'd tried this with her years ago. A blushing Bones was the newest addition to his top-10 list of favorite things to be the cause of.

She took the single daffodil from his hand, her fingers brushing his. His nearness, the light touch of his fingers and lips, and the unbelievably masculine look and scent of him short-circuited the connection between her brain and her mouth, and the primary question she'd had since the night before just...popped out.

"Thank you. Have you made a decision yet?" she blurted out, before he'd even fully retreated or she'd even had time to think about what she was saying.

Booth froze, still slightly leaning in toward her. A light tick in his jaw, and the way he swallowed instantly, took away his ability to claim for even a second that he didn't know what she was talking about.

He forced a small strangled laugh, pretty unconvincingly, as he quickly stood straight back up and took a tiny step away to put some space between them. "You want to discuss this now?" he choked out, going for a joking tone but fairly certain that instead he sounded mildly distressed. Quirking his lips upward, he tried again. "I mean, I'm a little rusty at this, Bones, but I'm pretty sure this is not appropriate first-date conversation for before I even get you in the car. In fact, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to slug me if I even _think_ about it before dessert."

She looked almost as shaken by her unexpected question as he did, even though it was her mouth it had popped out of. Going for total honesty, she only succeeded in making things worse. "You're right, Booth. I am aware of the behaviors and customs commonly accepted by our society as appropriate for an initial social engagement such as a first date. I just..." She stopped and swallowed, and he couldn't take his eyes off of the way hers had locked on his and darkened. "I just couldn't stop thinking about it."

At that admission, Booth rocked back on his heels like he had been hit by some unseen force, his eyes blinking in shocked surprise. He couldn't have forced words from his lips if his life had depended on it. After a few highly charged moments, she uncomfortably broke eye contact first, her eyes dropping to her flower and giving her an out. "I need to put this in water."

It wasn't until she turned to walk away from him into her kitchen that he realized he hadn't even seen the back of her dress yet. It didn't really help matters.

Just like the front, the appeal of the dress lay more in what it teased and didn't show than what it did show. The scooped back of the neckline dipped to about shoulder-blade level, where a wide strap across her back covered the area where a bra strap should be - her almost certainly _strapless_ bra, judging by the spaghetti thin straps on her shoulders, Booth mentally noted. Below that wide swath across her back, the dress opened up again into a small open space in the shape of an upside-down triangle, which gave him a glimpse of another small portion of the middle of her back before modestly ending well above the small of her back.

The only thing those small peek-a-boo gaps in the dress's back accomplished was to make him want to see the rest. Immediately.

Momentarily forgetting all about her question, Booth dragged his eyes away and looked skyward, shoving his hands in his pockets as he chuckled uncomfortably. Well, he had wanted her to dress up for him. A classic example of be careful what you wish for.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath, before raising his voice to call into the kitchen where she could hear him. He didn't dare go in there with her. Didn't _dare._ "Hey, Bones, I'm gonna need you to do me a favor tonight while we're out."

"What?" she called from the kitchen, from which he could hear running water.

He let an adoring but slightly pained smile grow on his face as he risked looking in her general direction again. "I might need you to pray for me."

She didn't even blink as she finished putting her flower in a small vase and returned to the room, coming to stand right before him. "I don't pray, Booth. I don't believe in God. You know that."

The corner of his mouth jerked up a little higher as he failed the battle he'd been waging with his eyes to keep them fastened only to points above her neck. "Doesn't matter. It'll help anyway. I think I'm gonna need all the help I can get tonight."

"I'm...probably not going to do that," she told him earnestly, before moving right back into torturing him. "You didn't answer my question. Have you decided about our second date?"

He was ready for her this time...well, slightly more ready.

"You know, I've got reservations, Bones."

He couldn't for the life of him understand why that statement made her look so taken aback, until she replied. Even then it took him a second to understand.

"More reservations? I thought we had discussed them all."

He blinked, and then a grin spread across his face. For some reason, the tiny miscommunication relaxed him and set him a little more at ease.

"We did. Kind of. But I meant I have _dinner_ reservations. For 7:30 sharp." He confidently motioned for her to lead the way out her door as he saw understanding dawn on her features. "So maybe you can have mercy on a guy and wait to bring this up again until after at least one glass of wine, huh?"

After flashing him a tiny, understanding smirk that said she'd be bringing the subject back up promptly after that first glass of wine, she grabbed a small evening bag and began to move toward her door. As she did so, he placed his hand on her back, right square in that middle section of open dress where he could touch her skin to skin. It felt like electricity arced right through him as he did so. God, he had waited for this exact moment for _so damn long_ , and that was when it finally really hit him.

He was dating Bones.

… ooo … ooo …

She dutifully allowed him to open the car door for her when they got downstairs, which he gleefully did. Remembering her earlier agreement to his half of the massage 'rules,' she didn't even complain about it. In fact, she even smiled tolerantly at him and accepted when he gallantly offered his hand to help her step up in her high heels.

At least partially because of that, he was beaming like a kid on Christmas morning when he came around and climbed into his own seat, all of the awkwardness now dispelled and the pure joy of being on a date with Bones having taken over.

He couldn't stop smiling _or_ looking over at her as he buckled up and cranked the truck, and she gave an answering nervous laugh as she noticed it.

"You ready, Bones?"

At her affirmative response, he began pulling out of her parking lot. Before they ever even reached the road, he did something else he'd wanted to do for a long time and just couldn't resist any longer.

"I hope you're hungry. I found a place I think you're gonna love, so of course I reserve the right to stop at the diner and grab some real food on the way home," he teased her lightly. But as he spoke, he quickly reached over with his right hand and very gently picked up hers in his from where it rested on her leg.

He saw her head snap in his direction at that completely new behavior, and couldn't resist cutting his eyes sideways to see her reaction. He gave her hand a squeeze when he saw the curious surprise in her eyes, his own eyes dancing as he turned his head more fully in her direction only long enough to quirk a half grin and wink at her by way of acknowledgement. He then turned his eyes back to the road and kept right on with the conversation as though nothing had happened. This time as he spoke, he laced their fingers together and pulled her hand slightly back toward him to rest their linked hands lightly on the armrest between them. "I mean, a guy can only eat so many vegetables before he's gotta have a good old-fashioned burger, y'know, Bones?"

He was mostly aware of her spirited lecture about the health and ecological benefits of eating vegetarian, as she quickly recovered and gave the teasing back as good as she got. But he was far more busy enjoying the simple pleasure of her hand in his as he gently caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. He smiled and nodded his head as he listened, and tried to keep his eyes on the road instead of on the tiny portion of her thighs he could see where the dress had risen slightly above her knee when she sat down and crossed her legs.

… ooo … ooo …

It'd have been very simple to book them a nice, traditional table at a nice, traditional classic Italian restaurant and order himself a nice, traditional plate of meat lasagna and a glass of wine.

It'd even have been easy to suck it up and take her to some vegetarian place, where he could load his plate with nice, traditional bread while she ate some plate of something he wouldn't touch if his life depended on it.

Nice and traditional. Practically the Seeley Booth motto.

But this was _Bones_. And while he thought she was extremely _nice_ in every way imaginable, she was definitely not traditional. So he went a completely different route.

No matter how badly he might be actually needing that very American burger later, the way her eyes lit up when she realized he had chosen a very authentic Ethiopian restaurant on the outskirts of town - one that he knew would provide her plenty of opportunity to educate him on every anthropological aspect of the experience if their conversation lulled or things got awkward - made his 'sacrifice' extremely worthwhile.

He didn't really expect them to suddenly not be able to find things to talk about, but he wanted to be prepared for any eventuality. Failure of this particular date was simply not optional. For the first few dates, until he could gauge her reactions and make sure she wasn't going to put way too much emphasis on a moment of awkwardness and decide this wasn't working, even his backup plans were going to have backup plans.

He had done his homework on different ethnic restaurants, so he knew that this particular place boasted the most authentic Ethiopian atmosphere and cuisine of any place around, and also that the food was supposed to be pretty good even for a more burger-and-fries minded guy like him. But what really sealed the deal was how cool he thought it'd be to sit on low stools at basket-like tables close to the ground, and forgo silverware while scooping up food onto pieces of some kind of bread he'd read about that they would be tearing off of a huge shared platter. The setting would be cozy and most likely set her at ease, and there was also something undeniably sensual about the idea of eating with their fingers while she was so dressed-up and animatedly chattering about...well, everything.

… ooo … ooo …

"So I'm supposed to put _this_ on this jingerra stuff?" he was asking not even 20 minutes later, when the sampler platter he'd ordered at her suggestion arrived on their table, along with their first large, round platter of spongy bread.

"Injera," she corrected automatically. "That's the bread. And yes, you just tear off a piece with your right hand and scoop up one of the meats or vegetables," she explained, demonstrating with a scoop full of some of the chopped greens on their sampler platter as she spoke. "Then just bring it all to your mouth like this, and..." she popped her first bite in her mouth expertly, as he watched warily.

"I'm going to spill it all over the kemosabe," he grinned at her, intentionally butchering the name of the little lidded basket-table at which they sat.

She glared at him, but with a smile on her face. " _Mesob_ , Booth. Mesob." He continued to watch a little warily as she took another bite, so she pointed at the sampler platter. "I believe that this one is beef. Simply pick it up in a piece of the injera...like this." She demonstrated again with a bite of something for her that he could only identify as vegetable rather than meat, at which point he lost interest in identifying it any further.

"Injera," he repeated absently, as he followed her lead and attempted to scoop up a piece of the beef, fumbling a little.

"Yes," she answered, already having finished her second bite before he got his first one to his mouth. Eyes sparkling, she watched him chew, gratified to see the look of pleasant surprise on his face when he tasted the spicy, stewed meat he had just scooped up with his bread. "Injera is made from a grain called Teff, which is native to Ethiopia and one of the smallest grains in the world. Actually, Teff seeds were found in the ruins of the Dassur Pyramid in Egypt, which dated back to about 3,359 BCE."

"Mmm...that's a good thing, right? Wouldn't want the mummies to get hungry," he responded, digging back in for another bite and winking at her to show he wasn't serious, in hopes of forestalling all the many ways she'd probably tell him how ludicrous that statement was.

Having discovered that the meat wasn't so bad, Booth happily made his way through a few more bites before inspiration struck. "Whoa...hey, Bones, I almost forgot. I read about something I wanted to try while we're here. Here..."

Carefully, he scooped up some of the mashed lentils she had seemed to favor so far from the sampler platter, leaned toward her and brought it toward her lips. She accepted the bite from his fingers with only a look of mild surprise, and finished it quickly.

"You did do your research, didn't you?" she asked as she watched him scoop up a piece of beef for himself. "How do you know about Gursha?"

He shrugged as he quickly chewed and swallowed, then shot her a flirtatious look. "C'mon, Bones. You think I'm gonna miss out on a chance to hand-feed one another? That was pretty much the first thing that stood out when I was looking this place up."

She smiled as he went for another scoop of the lentils, knowing he intended to feed her again, probably until she told him to stop. "It's not just this place, Booth. Gursha, or the act of hand-feeding fellow diners, is an Ethiopian tradition. Are you aware of the significance of the action?"

"Nope," he admitted cheerfully as she took another bite right from his fingers, and then couldn't resist teasing her. "Oh my God. You're not about to tell me that we're married now, are you?"

She swallowed that bite rather quickly after that, her eyes wide. "Of course not! Why would you think that?"

"Oh. Damn," he threw back shamelessly, enjoying the high color in her cheeks at his utterly shameless flirtation as she realized she'd been had. "Got my hopes up for a minute there, Bones."

Having been caught off guard momentarily by his blatant dancing around the topic of marriage, she predictably retreated into the safety of facts, although he noted with amusement that she was speaking in a very rushed manner. "Very simply put, at a traditional Ethiopian dinner the host might prepare and offer the first bite to the guest of honor to begin the meal, as a means of showing respect. The person receiving the Gursha can also return the honor and in turn hand-feed his feeder their last bite."

He smiled at her, already scooping up some chopped greens and making his way toward her mouth. "First bite, last bite, whatever... I just like the idea of feeding _you_ , Bones, and I figured this is the only place you're ever gonna let me do it." His eyes locked with hers as his hand stopped just before her mouth, his smile still playing on his lips. "I love taking care of you," he told her seriously.

She didn't seem to know what to say to that, accepting the bite from his fingers and chewing slowly as she seriously studied him - probably trying to figure out how to reject him if he was about to propose, he figured, so he decided to back off a bit. Leaning back in his seat, he shifted tactics.

"So tell me why?"

She tilted her head to the side as she finished her latest bite. "Why what?"

"Why, you know, do they feed one another? You said it's a sign of respect, but how does that show respect? How did it start? What does it mean?" With that, he popped a bite in his own mouth to give her a chance to answer.

He had expected her to relax and launch into some anthropological mumbo-jumbo that he might or might not be able to follow.

To his dismay and confusion, he instead saw a flicker of doubt suddenly cross her already alarmingly serious eyes, just before her gaze dropped from his face down to the table. He sat up a little straighter as he caught the change, getting just a little worried. He really should have researched this out before he started blindly asking questions...

"Bones?"

She looked up at him, her frame suddenly tense. "Ethiopian dining tradition is based on an Ethiopian belief, which states that those who eat from the same Mosseb, or plate..."

Her eyes brimmed with doubt, but he wasn't about to drop her gaze. Abandoning the meal, he reached across the table and caught her hand firmly in his, suddenly feeling an urge to hang on to her for dear life. "Yeah?" he encouraged, silently pleading with her to finish that thought before she gave him a heart attack.

"It says, in essence…. that those who eat from the same plate will never betray one another," she paraphrased quietly.

… ooo … ooo …

Booth's heart skipped a beat - and then resumed pounding at a drastically increased rate.

He had come on this first date with every intention of keeping everything as light and relaxed as possible, and avoiding the hell out of anything heavy - most especially the ordeal they had just endured. But after what she had just said and the look on her face when she said it, there was only one place he could really get to from there.

It took only seconds for his mind to automatically rewind to the first year of their partnership, her guileless eyes pleading with him to promise never to betray her. And then it immediately fast-forwarded to those same guileless eyes, looking up at him in terror inside a room in Albania where he had held her struggling body down beneath him.

"Bones, I..." Mind racing, he tried to read her, quickly giving up in favor of asking the only question he could possibly ask. "Are you saying - you feel like I betrayed you?" he asked, his voice stricken. If her answer was yes, he'd probably need to let go of his death grip on her hand, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to.

"No," she answered quickly, but in that same serious tone, her eyes never leaving his. It was clear that she knew exactly what he was thinking. "You _didn't_ betray me, Booth."

He blinked, honestly having expected her reply to be different. But if she didn't think he _had_ betrayed her, there was only one other reason that particular Ethiopian saying could have suddenly crashed her happiness during their first date.

Licking suddenly parched lips, he tried again, eyes irrevocably locked on hers as his body subconsciously leaned closer to her to gauge her reactions more carefully.

"Do you think I'm going to?"

Again, she answered very quickly and assuredly. "No. I don't." He could tell she wasn't finished, so he waited as patiently as he could considering how fast his heart was racing. After a moment's hesitation during which she studied him carefully from beneath her lashes, she finally got to the heart of the matter.

"Have I ever betrayed _you,_ Booth?"

She was utterly serious, he realized quickly. "What? God...no, Bones. You've never betrayed me. I - why would you even ask me that?"

Her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry lips, her gaze faltering slightly as she finally spoke again. Her voice was hesitant, uncertain, and she looked mildly terrified of his answer.

"Aren't you at all worried that I _will_ betray you? Eventually?"

Suddenly, he understood with almost blinding clarity, and his breath caught in his chest.

Long before Albania, he had known that if they ever started a relationship this particular issue was coming. Somehow, with all the other issues they faced, it hadn't come up yet - not really, anyway. Not like this. But it was inevitable and he had known it: so inevitable that all it had taken was the mere suggestion of the word 'ever' in an Ethiopian saying on their very first date to spark her fears that they couldn't keep this up indefinitely.

It was what he had always suspected might happen...

Except for the fact that he had expected her to doubt his ability to stick by her without abandoning _her_. A surge of hope filled him as he realized that she hadn't even questioned whether he would betray her, as she had years before. He understood intuitively that this actually had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her. Tightening his grip on her hand, he leaned in as close as he could get and still see her eyes.

"Bones, you listen to me. _No_. I'm not worried that you're going to betray me. I _know_ you're not going to betray me. I know that I'm not going to betray you. I know that neither of us is going to betray the other. Ever."

Insecurity and doubt stared painfully out at him through bright blue eyes that had become such a huge part of his life he could no longer imagine going a day without seeing them.

"But _how_ can you know that? How can you know that I'm not going to betray you or hurt you? How can you know that you're not going to wake up one morning and want to leave _me_? It's impossible to predict the future, Booth. Statistically, over an extended period of time the unlikelihood of maintaining satisfaction in a strictly monogamous relationship would seem to indicate a predisposition toward dissatisfaction, infidelity..."

He wasn't nearly as alarmed by _this_ as he had been when the word 'betray' first came out of her mouth. He'd actually been prepared for _this_ ever since the day he realized that he would one day man up and tell her how he felt.

"Stop right there and just hear me out, okay? I know that anthropology tells you that relationships are ephemeral and that monogamy is unnatural. I know because you've told me so a thousand times over. Bones, I _know._ I know how you see the world, and I also know how you see yourself. You see yourself as pragmatic, coldly rational. But you're wrong on all counts, especially about yourself. You're brilliant beyond belief, but there's a flaw in your logic."

Written all over her face, her obvious desire to believe him hit him with the force of a physical blow, strengthening his commitment to make her understand.

"Even though I know you believe all those things you say about love not being able to last, you're still here with me tonight, knowing full well what I want for us. And only one thing is bothering you about that: the thought of one day betraying me - of hurting me. That tells me something. It tells me a lot. If you were as strictly cold and rational as you're getting ready to tell me you are, you wouldn't be worried about whether or not you might betray me. But I know that's never going to happen. You see, I _know_ you, Bones - the real you. You're utterly truthful, and you have more integrity than anyone I've ever known. And you're all heart, no matter what you might think. Don't doubt it for a second."

She listened carefully to every word, mulling it over, but he could see that she was still extremely skeptical.

"But Booth, I'm _not_ all heart. That's you. And five or ten years in the future, or fifty..."

"I'm not worried about five years from now," he cut her off softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze to soften his abruptness. "I _can't_ worry about five years from now. This is one day at a time, Bones, just like anything else. Every morning when I wake up, I'll know that I love you today and I'll love you tomorrow."

"But..." He watched her trying to process that out. "By that reasoning, tomorrow never comes. There's always one more day."

He felt his smile starting to return. "Exactly, Bones. Exactly. Five years, ten years, fifty years...when you do it that way, it all takes care of itself. Just...know that you love me today, and know you'll love me tomorrow. Every day. And don't worry about anything beyond that."

Even as she protested, he knew that he had gotten through. The rest was just her characteristic inability to surrender gracefully. "It seems...irresponsible not to consider the future."

He looked at her more seriously than he ever had, letting his heart show in his eyes. He waited until he saw her lips part slightly as she realized just how very serious he was. "I am. You _are_ my future, Bones." And to his relief, he saw that answer reflected back in her eyes.

Dragging his eyes from her face before he could say the hell with it, lean all the way across that table and start something he wasn't going to be able to finish in the middle of a restaurant, he let go of her hand and tore off a piece of the bread. He carefully scooped something green and non-meaty into it before slowly moving to lift it to her lips.

Correctly guessing his intentions, her eyes alternately flicked between the slowly approaching food and the warm brown eyes of the man in front of her. "I believe I understand what you're attempting, but in the interests of accuracy I must point out that you're taking the practice of Gursha completely out of context. As I mentioned before, the actual method involves the host making a one-time..."

"Since when have we done anything the traditional way?" he smoothly stopped her, his eyes dancing as he held the food just in front of her lips. "We do things our way. We're like our own sub-culture, Bones."

Her eyes had zeroed in on the delicious smelling food before her, held in Booth's fingers, and she automatically licked her lips. "I concede your point."

That drew another smile. Whether she meant it that way or not, he was taking it to mean she conceded _both_ of his points. "Good. So then... Temperance Brennan, this is me promising that I'll never betray you."

She accepted the offering, her lips brushing against his fingers. After a slight hesitation in which he could tell she was battling with herself to keep from once again mentioning that this really wasn't the way it was supposed to be _done_ , she reached out and tore off a piece of bread, scooping up a piece of meat and then bringing it up to his lips.

"And while I'm still somewhat uncomfortable with the concept of 'never'… Booth, this is me promising that every day I will decide not to betray you today or tomorrow."

He sucked in a quick breath as he realized just exactly how much those words meant coming from her, and he couldn't resist reaching up to catch her wrist as he accepted the bite she offered, keeping her hand right where it was. Pulling her hand the rest of the way to his lips after a moment, he pressed a soft kiss against it, sealing their words before pulling their now-linked hands down to rest between them on the table. He felt like a huge burden he hadn't even known he carried had been lifted from his shoulders.

"So what do they have that I can feed you for dessert, Bones?"

… ooo … ooo …

Halfway through dessert, Booth realized he was enjoying their dinner and sitting across from her at their cozy, intimate little table way too much to let it end so soon; so he decided to order them some after-dinner drinks to linger over. He'd barely touched the spiced hot tea they'd had with their meal, so he could use something else to drink anyway. He ordered the first alcoholic beverage he could find on the menu, a sweet honey wine Brennan called Tej.

As it appeared, Booth remembered that Bones was just waiting for this particular moment to bring up what was or wasn't going to happen after their second date again, as she had all but promised at her apartment earlier; so he forestalled her from revisiting that topic by reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, slightly thick rectangular object wrapped in a layer of tissue paper. Clearing his throat, he held it up just out of her reach, letting her get good and curious as his eyes sparkled mischievously at her.

"What's that?" she finally asked, when it became clear he just intended to wave it in front of her until she did so, and that he wasn't going to let her get her hands on it.

"I got ya something, Bones."

"What is it?" she asked with mild suspicion. Suspicion, because he just looked so _pleased_ with himself and more than a little cocky.

"What does it look like?"

"A book, perhaps. Paperback, and very small. A pocket edition?" she guessed.

"Mm-hm. But what book?" he persisted.

She shrugged. "I have no way of knowing that. It's covered in tissue paper."

"Guess."

Although she highly doubted Booth would give her such a gift on a first date when he seemed so overly concerned about even what topics of conversation were appropriate for the occasion, there was only one guess she could think of that was certain to make him immediately stop his juvenile game of making her guess...so she coolly raised an eyebrow and decided to push him into telling her what it _really_ was.

"I already have a copy of the Kama Sutra, Booth."

To her surprise, he didn't even blink or start reminding her that they were _in public._ The smirk at the corner of his lips just became a little more pronounced as he propped his elbows on the little basket table so he could lean slightly toward her as he met her challenge easily.

"So do I. Guess again, Bones."

She had meant to leave him speechless, but he'd won that round and turned the tables pretty effectively. So instead, after glaring at him for a split second, she took advantage of his closer proximity to reach out and snatch the book from his hand eagerly, her expression turning to confusion as she ripped off the paper and noted what it was.

"This is a dictionary," she informed him with a frown.

"I'm aware of that."

She studied it for about five more seconds before looking up at him again with a fully perplexed look on her face. "I don't know what this means."

"Dictionary? Well, you could look it up," he told her straight-faced, unable to keep his poker face at the mutinous scowl she gave him by way of response. He was grinning expectantly as he gave in and made things easier on her - at least as easy as he intended to make things when he was finally about to win one for a change. "Okay, okay. I marked a page for you. You might find a clue there."

Despite her scowl, he knew he'd won half the battle - she was curious enough to open the book to the page he had marked, her eyes flying straight to the section he'd carefully highlighted.

"Feel free to read it out loud, Bones," he gloated, immensely proud of himself.

She clearly had absolutely no intentions of doing so, so he made a grab for the small book intending to read it aloud himself. She blocked him easily, still studying the page; he could have got his arms around her just as easily and removed it from her anyway if he'd really wanted to. But he settled for sending her a puppy-dog look.

"Oh, c'mon, Bones. You're the one that started this debate. At least let me prove my point for once. I've got facts and everything! I know how you love facts."

She wasn't giving in that easily. "Technically, Caroline started this debate. I simply corrected her."

He wasn't giving in either. "No, Caroline said we had a lovers' spat. You're the one who immediately jumped in and informed the room that we're not lovers because we haven't slept together yet."

She narrowed her eyes at him, rising to the challenge. "Actually, Booth, if it is your intention for the purposes of this argument to adhere strictly to the primary, non-colloquial definition of each term, then that's not a correct statement either. We _have_ slept together. We slept together on your couch _and_ my couch, and even your bed."

He leaned a little closer, looking at her triumphantly, not letting her goad him. He didn't even freak out and shush her because people might hear. Frankly, he had noticed the way men's heads turned when she walked past in that dress, and if every man in the room had just overheard her saying they were sleeping together, that was fine by him; it just meant that now there were even fewer guys who might think they had a chance. Not to mention, he hadn't memorized the entire paragraph just to let her distract him when it counted.

"You're deflecting, Bones. The definition of lover is, and I quote, 'a person in love, especially a man in love with a woman; two persons in love with each other; an affectionate or benevolent friend.' Now tell me how any of those don't already apply."

Looking just as triumphantly back at him without even looking back down at the page she still held, she quoted the final definition of the word - the only one he hadn't highlighted. "Lover: 'a person with whom one has sexual relations.'"

He scoffed. "Jeez, what did you do, memorize the whole dictionary in 10 seconds? That's definition number _four_ , Bones." He held up four fingers for emphasis. _"Four._ As in, fourth most important. After the other three, y'know, _really important_ ones."

Her lips pursed as she formulated her next argument. "Perhaps the other three definitions apply _now_. But when I made the statement to which you object, Caroline had just used the word 'lover' in reference to the night I went to the nightclub with Angela, after our disagreements in the lab and the diner. We weren't even speaking to each other at the time, much less lovers. So my statement was, in fact, correct. At that time, we were not lovers."

He wasn't backing down either. "No. You said it yourself...disagreements, Bones. An argument. Didn't mean I didn't still love you, and it didn't mean you didn't still love me. And don't tell me you didn't, because I _know_ you did. If you hadn't, you'd have shot me with my own gun that night in the diner for trying to grab you like I did. Not that I wouldn't have deserved it."

She once again studied the small object in her hands. "So I assume that you bought me this to tell me that we're still lovers, even though you're about to tell me that you've decided you aren't going to have sex with me after our second date?"

He reached across to tilt her chin up so he could see her eyes, and then met her gaze without wavering. "No. I never said that was my decision, did I? My point is that it doesn't really matter _what_ my decision is. We've been lovers for a long time, Bones, by three out of the four definitions. The last 25% doesn't change that, it can just enhance it - whenever it happens, whether that's the second date or the fifth or tenth or a year from now. There's no rush. _That's_ my point, and that's what I want to make absolutely sure you know before we even have that conversation again."

She didn't say anything, but the way she tilted her head to the side and studied him told him that he thought maybe she got it. "So you _have_ made a decision then?" she pressed.

Dramatically picking up the glass of wine that he had yet to touch until that point, he pointed a finger at her with the other hand. "Uh, uh, uh, Bones...not until after I've had a glass of wine. Remember?"

… ooo … ooo …

There was a small park located just down the block across the street from the restaurant Booth had taken her to. So when they left only a short time later and Brennan automatically began to walk in the direction of Booth's vehicle, he instead caught her hand in his and pulled her in the direction of that park. At her questioning glance, he pointed the park out to her with his other hand so she'd know what he was up to.

"I need to walk off all that ginjanerra anyway, Bones. What do you say?"

A relaxed, trusting smile replaced her momentary confusion, and even though he should really be older than to experience such a thing, Booth felt his heart do a flip-flop in his chest. He'd really had every intention of waiting until he dropped her at her door before kissing her, but he was suddenly pretty certain that if he got a chance he was _going_ to kiss her in that nice, dark park in the moonlight.

" _Injera,"_ she corrected him. "And yes, a walk would be agreeable."

He didn't let go of her hand, loosely threading their fingers together as they walked down the sidewalk, just reveling in the newfound pleasure that was walking along holding hands with the woman he loved.

The small park was uncrowded at that time of night, he noted, instinctively observing and assessing each other person in their vicinity. Wanting to be alone with her, he took the lead and guided her toward the most unpopulated path, which he was pleased to discover took them to the side of a small pond they could walk around.

"I've had a nice time tonight, Booth," she informed him only a few steps into the park, where she pulled her hand from his and looped her arm through his arm instead, looking up at him with another smile as she held to his arm.

He looked down at her, bringing his other arm across his body to cover her hand with his, a smile growing on his own lips. "Me too, Bones. But it's not over yet." He punctuated that promise by lightly giving her hand against his arm a squeeze.

In companionable silence, they began walking along beside the pond, arms linked. They were a half-circuit around the small pool when inevitability struck in the form of the question he had been waiting for. If he hadn't known better, he would've believed she was trying to butter him up when she sidled up even closer to his side and held more tightly to his arm.

"You've had a glass of wine now," she pointed out, and he knew what was coming. "Actually you had two. Do you feel more adequately prepared to tell me your decision now?"

"Decision? About what, again?" he teased, giving a light tug of his arm to pull her even closer as he looked over at her with an amused expression that said he knew _exactly_ what she meant. The only real shock was that she hadn't brought it up again immediately after his first glass. At the time he finished that first glass, she had been far more interested in the lecture she was giving him on Ethiopian wine as it pertained to dining tradition, so he had received a temporary reprieve...but he had never doubted it was still coming.

At the murderous look she gave as her only reply to his feigned ignorance, he chuckled and disentangled his arm from her grasp so he could instead slip it around her waist and get her even closer. She still wasn't nearly as close as he'd like her, but it definitely improved matters somewhat.

At the time that he'd picked her up from her apartment that night, he'd still been no closer to a decision about making love after their second date than he had been when it originally came up on the phone the night before.

But now he was finding that he was suddenly looking forward to this discussion, finally having made a decision about his answer sometime during the middle of feeding her dessert from his fingers - some type of delicious chocolate pastry he'd ordered and she had initially wrinkled her nose and protested as not being authentic, but had ended up eating her share and a good three-quarters worth of his. Not that he had complained about that, not when she'd grabbed his wrist to finish licking the last bit of chocolate from the last bite off his finger, realizing at some point just what kind of effect that unintentionally seductive little act was having on him. She had then proceeded to take full advantage of that knowledge, in a way that wasn't so unintentional and had left him shifting uncomfortably on the suddenly not-so-wonderful little low stool he sat on.

Yes, he was more than willing to have this conversation now.

But as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in close, almost as soon as she came into full contact with his side and snaked her own arm under his coat her attention was drawn elsewhere.

"Are you wearing your shoulder holster?"

There was an unspoken _why_ in that clearly rhetorical question, although she definitely sounded curious and surprised rather than alarmed in any way. Still, the question made him immediately uncomfortable and he did a terrible job of hiding it. He was already getting a little nervous about how dark and secluded the area he was dragging her off toward was turning out to be; it had just occurred to him how much the path they were walking down reminded him of that dark street in Albania that he and Naji had pinpointed as her original abduction site, and that the situation could trigger a flashback if she drew the same conclusion. So the last thing he wanted right then was to tell her about Stallings being on the run and give her anything else to be worried about. He'd definitely prefer to address that topic much, much later.

Clearing his throat, he averted his eyes and instinctively scanned the area around them again. "Yeah. But I'm always armed, Bones. You know that." He knew as soon as the defensive words were out of his mouth that he had probably just set off her alarm bells, but hoped she'd just take that answer at face value and let it go.

But of course it couldn't be that easy. He was stunned sometimes by exactly how much she observed and knew his behaviors. He also knew with no small amount of frustration that it was his own guarded way of replying that had sparked the sudden suspicion he heard in her next words.

"Yes, but after work hours you normally only wear an ankle holster, especially in social situations."

She looked increasingly uncomfortable, but he knew it wasn't the weapons making her that way - it was his reluctance to tell her why he suddenly felt it necessary to have one within easy reach during their first date. With a sigh, he gave in, knowing she'd only let it go when she'd heard the whole truth.

"I've got my ankle holster too, Bones, and yes, there's a reason why. I didn't want to tell you this until after our date, but Caroline called again just as I was leaving to pick you up. Stallings didn't show up for work this morning and police weren't able to pick him up at his house when they went to serve the warrant. He's kind of missing right now."

She tensed, but only momentarily before she relaxed again, never missing a step and seemingly oblivious to just how intently Booth was watching her. "On the run?"

His hand on her waist reflexively gripped her tighter and pulled her in more snugly against him. "No...just missing. They'll get him, Bones. Or I will, if he comes near you. I'm just not taking any chances."

He watched as she slowly nodded, but a curtain of her hair had fallen across her face so he could no longer see her expression. His feet stopped in place, effectively stopping her with him. "Listen, Bones, if you wanna go back to the car and get out of here..."

Her hair no longer hid her expression as her head whirled to face him, and he was glad to see that she didn't look worried in the least. "Why would I want to do that? I've told you multiple times that I don't believe he'll approach me, and you're clearly prepared in the event that I'm incorrect in that assessment."

There was something endearing about her wordy approach to what was clearly a simple _I trust you._ But whether she said it in three words or forty, it had the same effect on him either way - a sudden spike in both his affection for her and his feeling of protectiveness over her. He almost turned her in his arms and kissed her right then and there, but she started walking again, her arm around his waist lightly pulling to let him know she wanted him to come with her and resume their walk.

He should have known she wouldn't stay distracted for long. It only took a few steps before she reverted to their original topic. "You were about to tell me your decision."

A grin of pure joy broke out on his face. The conversation about Stallings had gone better than he could have hoped, which took a huge burden off of his shoulders. He wanted to protect this evening at all costs, and hated the idea of anything ruining it.

And also, he increasingly wanted to have this _exact_ conversation they were returning to, no matter how first-date-inappropriate it was. But that didn't mean he didn't love teasing her almost as much as he loved the idea of finally settling this issue once and for all.

"Oh, I was? That's not how I remember it."

There were equal amounts of accusation and pout in her voice. "Booth, you promised! You said we'd discuss it after you had one glass of wine."

"I don't know, Bones. Are you sure that glass counts? As you repeatedly reminded me, it's actually called Tej."

She narrowed her eyes at his ignorance. "Tej _is_ wine. As I stated earlier, it's the traditional Ethiopian honey wine, made from fermented..."

No freaking way they were going back down that road again now that he actually _wanted_ to talk about this. Fortunately he knew how to put a stop to it.

"The answer is no...but yes."

He had turned his head to look over and watch her face closely as she digested that answer, and he saw the way her breath caught in her throat, putting the easiest end in history to one of her anthropological lectures. Her feet suddenly pulled up short and she turned to face him. Given their already close positions and his one arm already wrapped snugly around her, when she turned toward him he only had to lift his other hand up to the level of her waist to put her fully and securely in the circle of his arms, facing one another with their faces only inches apart. Her hands came to rest - and were instantly forgotten - against his chest.

"No, but yes?" she repeated barely above a whisper, looking up at him very seriously.

He lost the battle to keep his eyes locked on hers, the close proximity of her lips and the sweet tickle of her breath drawing his attention like a magnet and making his arms tighten sharply around her.

"Yes, Bones. If you're sure you're ready and this is what you want, I don't want to wait anymore either. I'm ready if you are. But I _am_ saying no to it happening on the second date."

Her breath caught again, and he realized what she was thinking a half second before it came out of her mouth.

"Do you mean...tonight?"

His hands came up to cup her face, looking at her seriously. For just a moment, he was sorely tempted to let that particular miscommunication stand and follow it to its logical conclusion. But it was especially telling to him - and just slightly painful - that at least part of her looked like she suddenly was a little nervous about that. It at least partially confirmed his suspicions that some portion of the reason she'd been so comfortable pursuing him physically was that everything had been on her own terms, with her as the aggressor. That fact made him even more sure that what he was doing was the right thing...

"Temperance Brennan, you have no idea how much I'd love to say yes to that and just take you home with me right now and make love to you all night. But no. I'm ready for this to happen too, but I want us to wait for the third date."

"The third date?" Her face pulled back slightly in confusion, but he was extremely glad to see curiosity reflected there rather than even the slightest hint of relief. Maybe he had just thrown her off guard when she thought he meant _that_ night. "Why the third date? If neither of us wishes to wait any longer, I don't see the logic in waiting. What is your reasoning?"

The corners of his lips pulled up, a rueful smile on his face as he dropped his hands to let his arms encircle her waist again. "You're not going to like it."

Completely without her permission or any voluntary decision, her eyes traveled down from his extremely symmetrical face to his broad shoulders and well-sculpted pectoral muscles, her hands against his chest absently beginning to move of their own accord to explore the delicious hardness of that chest. The backward motion of her upper half only pushed her lower half a little more snugly against his equally pleasing lower body. With a tiny frown, she rebutted what she thought him to mean.

"I feel quite certain that I will, Booth."

The expression on his face was somewhere between cocky smirk and adoring smile as he realized she had thought he meant she wouldn't like...well, _that._ And her obvious appreciation of his body didn't exactly deflate his ego, either. He couldn't keep the amusement _or_ the sudden cockiness out of his voice. "Oh, Bones...that's not what I meant. I think we'll both like _that_. I just meant you're not going to like the reason I want to wait for _that_."

"Oh." To his utter delight, she turned adorably pink, abruptly stopping her little cop-a-feel of his muscles and looking like she'd been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. He wouldn't let her put any space between them, not when he knew it was just because she'd embarrassed herself, so he held on tightly and leaned in to stop his light teasing of her with a reassuring brush of his lips across her brow - a touch so barely-there she could have thought she imagined it.

He watched doubt flutter across her face, and knew without her having to say a word what she was thinking and why it upset her. Leaning forward ever so slightly, he rested his forehead against hers.

"Before you even ask, I promise you, it has very little to do with what happened in Albania. If you believe you're ready I trust you, although I'll admit that I do still like the idea of you having a few more sessions with Gordon-Gordon first. But mostly I just want time to savor this, Bones. I want to make it as special as I possibly can for you, and to do that I need time to plan."

"Plan?" she asked, as though the concept was somewhat distasteful or entirely foreign to her - which, in this instance, it truly was. "What do you need to plan? I'm clean, Booth, and I'm on the pill. You don't need protection, unless there is something wrong with _you,_ in which case there are multiple treatment and protection options which in most cases would allow..."

His forehead and upper body pulled back like a shot, one of his hands relinquishing its hold on her waist to fly up and hold up a halting finger in disbelief. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Remembering that he could do so now, he laid that finger against her lips. "Um, that's...good to know, Bones...I guess... But again, _not_ what I meant. At all." He knew he sounded completely mystified, but honestly, even after all they had been through she still possessed the ability to shock and rattle him. "Jeez. Not even close," he muttered.

"Are you _not_ clean?" she asked despite the light pressure of his finger against her lips, causing her to sound just mildly muffled.

His head dropped back as he exhaled deeply, and he concentrated momentarily on the stars above while trying to refrain from laughing in resigned disbelief. This conversation wasn't exactly proceeding as planned.

"Let's try something new, Bones," he told the North Star wryly as he continued to stare upwards, dropping his finger back down from her lips so that both of his hands could resettle comfortably on her waist. Even before compasses, he mused, sailors had been able to navigate the vast oceans using the stars. He knew a little about that type of thing himself, though he much preferred compasses and G.P.S. As he mused on that, he lamented the fact that there was no navigation system in existence, primitive or otherwise, which could offer him a snowball's chance in hell of successfully navigating his way through even one discussion with his oh-so-literal partner when it pertained in any way to sex.

"Okay," she instantly replied to his request, in an agreeable fashion that he knew was almost laughably deceptive.

"I'll explain what I mean fully, and _then_ you answer when I'm completely done. Okay?" When she didn't answer, he pulled his head back down to look at her. "Okay?" He waited another moment. "Bones?"

"Yes, that's fine. I was simply waiting for you to finish," she informed him sweetly, but he saw the tiny hint of amusement in her eyes that led him to believe that just maybe she was yanking his chain, on that point at least.

Letting her go and taking her hand with a dramatic but good-natured sigh, he started walking again, pulling her along with him and growing serious again within a few steps.

"When I say I want time to plan, Bones...I just want to give you the _perfect_ night in every way. I've got some ideas, but there are some things I need to get together."

"Like what?"

Absently, he ran his thumb over the back of her hand, lightly caressing it as he realized that nobody had probably ever done any more for her than the minimum required to get her into bed. He suspected that at least some of her skepticism about romance was a complete lack of experience with it. So of course she didn't know what he meant, and that wasn't really her fault.

"I'm not going to tell you everything, but for starters I want to book us a nice place and I need to do a little research first. I want to find something that's, you know, nice but still _us_."

As he had predicted, she _didn't_ like it. "I don't need any of that, Booth. You don't have to do anything elaborate. Either of our apartments would suffice perfectly well, and you've already spent what I can only assume to be a small fortune on flowers. It would be a waste of money."

He didn't let her get to him. He had known this was coming. "Not to me it's not, Bones," he told her quietly, patiently. "Because I _want_ to give you all that and more. And whether or not you think you need it or want it, you deserve it and that's all that matters. You deserve it, and I _need_ to do it for you. Okay?"

He saw her weakening, but she didn't give in immediately. "It simply seems unnecessary. Are you certain you can afford it?"

Probably not, if truth were told. But he hadn't told her all of his reasoning behind it, either.

Yes, he wanted to make things special - with all of his heart he did. But it was still sooner than he had planned on doing this; if things went badly and she became frightened or it was a bad experience for them, he wanted a neutral place that they never had to go back to.

That their first time wasn't going to happen in _either_ of their beds was practically the first conclusion he had come to, almost as soon as she'd agreed to be something-in-between with him. It'd be a lot easier to avoid a certain hotel or bed and breakfast for the rest of their lives than it would be their homes.

But it wasn't like he could exactly tell her any of that, either.

There was really only one way to answer a question like that, he thought to himself.

He had originally had no _real_ intention of kissing her before the end of the date - not even when he had dragged her off into the dark alone for a stroll around a pond with plenty of dark, secluded places available within a few steps in any direction. He had really just been hoping for her hand in his, maybe a taste of her arm wrapped around him. Sure, the thought of making out with her behind a tree in the dark like a horny 17-year-old had its appeal, but he hoped that he'd attained a little more finesse by his - as Bones would say - 'advanced age.'

Their steps had brought them by that time into a particularly dark, shaded area that hid them particularly well from anyone who might still be in the park within viewing distance; it seemed like a stroke of good fortune too good to pass up, so Booth didn't even bother to repress the urge that suddenly overtook him to have her lips under his.

His steps slowed, but she didn't immediately notice and pulled slightly ahead of him within a couple steps; so it took her by complete surprise when, just as she noticed that he wasn't keeping up with her, he used her momentum and his hold on her hand to pull her backwards and turn her into his arms against his chest - all of which he accomplished with a surprising amount of gentleness considering the abrupt nature of the motion.

"Bones?"

Everything in him screamed at him to just capture her lips with his own and kiss the breath right out of her and himself both, but given their circumstances he just couldn't do that. He looked directly and unwaveringly into her eyes despite the impossible closeness and magnetism of her lips; and despite her self-perceived inability to read facial cues, she understood his unspoken question perfectly. Her hands slipped underneath his coat and slid around his waist to his back in anticipation as she nodded her permission, her gaze dropping to his lips which had begun approaching the moment he saw acceptance in her eyes.

Ever so slowly, his face descended until his lips met hers with just the lightest amount of pressure, kissing her with all the sweetness befitting a first date between two people who had known each other for years and already loved each other desperately. Feeling her arms tightening on his waist, he obliged by tightening his own and pulling her closer, keeping one arm tight around her as the other came up to cup her cheek in one palm before finally sliding that palm to the back of her head to tangle his fingers in soft, silky hair and hold her head steadily in place.

For long moments, the kiss remained sweet, chaste, almost reverent. She hadn't expected him to deepen it - especially considering she had been the one to deepen almost every kiss they had shared. So it only seemed to make it that much more sweet when she felt the gentle pressure of his tongue against her lower lip, softly asking her lips to open and allow him in. Her own hand came up to palm his cheek softly as she obliged, her growing arousal mingling curiously with an unfamiliar sensation of just being _safe_ and protected. She always felt safe with Booth, though she was equally confident in her own ability to protect herself with or without him; but somehow in that dark park with his arms tight around her, knowing that he was heavily armed for the sole purpose of keeping her safe and that he wouldn't hesitate to expertly drop anything that moved in her direction, she just felt safer and more protected than she'd felt since she was a little girl.

Her lips parted beneath his, and his tongue moved gently into her mouth, exploring and stroking everywhere he could reach...rubbing against her tongue, stroking against her teeth. She let out a soft sigh of pure contentment, tasting the sweet traces of the chocolate and Tej mingling together with his own unique taste and knowing that he tasted the same flavors on her.

She pressed herself more closely to him, surprised to then feel his hands begin to wander southward down her back, stroking up and down across the cut-out portion in the back of her dress and venturing lower on each downstroke. It was more liberty than he had taken thus far without her explicit instruction or request, and that fact sent a sudden shot of arousal flooding through her as she burrowed herself even closer to him, moaning her encouragement into his mouth as he continued to slowly but very thoroughly kiss her.

That little moan from her went right through him, ripping an answering groan from his throat as the underlying passion in the kiss threatened to fully explode. His hands came dangerously close to carrying through with what they'd been teasing - it took every ounce of restraint he could muster to keep his hands from dropping down to cup her perfect bottom, pull her hips hard against his growing erection and grind her against him. Every bit of longing, anticipation, frustration and even fear they had experienced up until that point only added fuel to the fire in both their bodies, as it seemed that they could both finally let go of all of it with the satisfying knowledge that they had finally come to an agreement about when and how to move forward. They were making progress toward getting out of limbo.

But this was still their _first date_ , and he hadn't forgotten that. He wasn't going to let himself. Too much had gone into getting to this point to let hormones get the best of him and take them farther than one head-spinning kiss, no matter how much that damn dress of hers and the way it hugged her curves had his hands itching to just _take._ There would be time for that later - very soon, based on the conversation they'd just had...

...a conversation which they still needed to finish. Had her last words really been to ask him if he could _afford_ what he was planning?

She was breathless when he let her go, which he liked for a couple reasons...one, because it was just very satisfying to know that his kisses could leave the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on breathless; and two, because that way he could actually get a word in edgewise.

"The way I see it, Bones," he told her, trying to ignore just how breathless _he_ was, "I can't afford _not_ to do everything I can to make this perfect. I've waited too long for this, you mean too much to me, and I don't plan on ever having another first time. Do you understand me? This is it for me. Let me do this for us. Just trust me, okay?"

Her eyes widened, and for one heartstopping second he thought his 'trust me' had spiraled her into a flashback like it had done on the plane. The words had just slipped out, and he instantly wished he could yank them back. But instead of looking frightened, her face broke out into the most beautiful smile of acceptance he'd ever seen as she nodded her agreement with what looked like the beginnings of tears in her eyes. The implication was clear to him, and just made him want to kiss her again and not stop this time...she hadn't been willing to accept his plans to make it special for her - but she was willing to do so if it would make it special for him.

"We need to keep walking," he told her a little desperately.

"Okay," she replied, letting him grab her hand and start pulling her along after him. "Why?"

"'Cause if we don't, I'm gonna kiss you again, and I'm not likely to stop this time; and then we're both probably gonna end up getting arrested. That wasn't really in the plans tonight, Bones."

After such a serious moment, that remark from him sent a rush of laughter out of her - which didn't really help him much, because he thought she was even more beautiful when she laughed, especially when he was the cause of it.

… ooo … ooo

It was late when he pulled up in front of her apartment complex. After the park, he'd given her a choice between going to a movie, or getting coffee at a small cafe' where they could sit in front of the huge window and just people-watch the night away. He'd actually thought she would pick the movie, and had already steeled himself to end up enduring some subtitled foreign language film or God-help-him documentary if they could find one playing, but he'd comforted himself with the thought of stealing some kisses in a darkened theater. Considering that she seemed to be just as happy kissing and groping him as he was kissing and trying not to grope _her_ , he was pretty surprised when she chose the coffee instead, the place where there was the least chance of physical contact.

It ended up being one of the best decisions of his life, although he wasn't the one who made it. A few minutes had turned into an hour, which had turned into two, until the little cafe' had basically kicked them out so they could close. He was pretty sure Albania hadn't even come up once, nor had anything scientific. They'd laughed and traded stories of their childhoods, both of them completely relaxed, spending most of the time with their hands linked on the tabletop as they talked more than they probably had in the last five years combined. He was pretty sure that even though he hadn't thought it possible, he loved her even a little more when they finally left.

As he parked in her lot, he didn't even wait for an invitation to come up. He just jumped out of the vehicle at the same time she did. As much as he'd have loved to open her door for her, and despite the fact that he'd opened the door for her to get _in_ the car each time simply by getting to it before she could, there was just no way he could get around the car to let her _out_ before she could grab the handle and open it herself. He supposed it was just something he'd have to get used to...it just wasn't in her nature to passively sit and wait for him.

Booth had every intention of following her up to make sure everything was secure, not to mention securing his goodnight kiss, and she didn't question him on it. His hand at her back, he stayed close to her as they walked in, somehow managing not to jump the gun and kiss her on the elevator. He wanted a real, true, honest-to-God first-date goodnight kiss with Temperance Brennan outside her door.

So a few moments later, he stood and watched with a patiently bemused expression on his face as she unlocked her door and walked straight through it as soon as they arrived, only realizing a few steps inside her door that he was still standing in the hall, thumbs jammed in his pockets and the corner of his mouth lifted in puzzled amusement.

She hesitated. "Booth? Aren't you staying?"

His half-smile quirked a little higher. "First date, Bones, remember? Traditionally ends with a kiss?"

"Oh," she stated, recognizing his words from the note attached to the daffodils in her office. She was still standing a couple steps in her apartment with her hand on the edge of the door, which she had been preparing to close before she realized he hadn't walked through it after her. "And that is required to take place outside?"

He was pretty close to breaking out into a full scale grin. "Nope, not really, I guess. But for me it is, tonight, if we plan to honor that whole waiting for the third-date thing."

"You aren't staying?" she repeated, surprised.

"Not with you in _that_ dress," he deflected, not really ready to tell her yet that after he 'dropped her off' at her door to officially end the date, he had every intention of coming back within an hour and staying the night with her, especially with Stallings out there somewhere. At which time she would have hopefully changed clothes, or he'd be standing under an icy cold shower pretty damn fast instead of snuggled up with her on her couch watching the movie he'd already rented, which was hidden in his overnight bag in the back of his truck.

Mischief sparked in her eyes, so he was pretty sure she wasn't innocent in the way she chose to phrase her offer, especially when her hands reached up to play at the zipper on the side of her bodice, a motion which stretched the material even more appealingly across her breasts. "I could take it off."

His eyes narrowed playfully. "Don't tempt me, Bones. I just might take you up on that. Now get out here."

She stepped out the door toward him immediately, pulling it shut behind her. "You're really going to leave?"

He was already leaning in toward her, his arm going up over her head to prop himself on the door frame, not exactly blocking her in or pressing against her but putting them in close proximity to one another while still leaving her an escape route out the other side. "Yeah, in a minute, but not right now."

Whatever she would have said next disappeared as his lips met hers, a kiss with far more promise in it than he'd given her yet. His confidence and aggressiveness increased each time he kissed her, as did her own arousal in reaction to it. When all was said and done, Booth's alpha-male tendencies - despite all of her snide comments about them over the years - were one of the things that physically drew her to him. She was finding that that side of him only attracted her more in the context of a relationship, especially since he seemed to strike the right balance of being alpha-male without treating her like she was substandard or weak. He had a strange way of making her feel utterly protected while still possessing a slightly 'dangerous' air about him, although she knew that rationally there was nothing dangerous about him - at least not to her. Whether it was irrational or not was a moot point, because she still got those little shivers on her spine either way when he physically took control like that. It was most definitely not an unpleasant feeling.

He only touched her with his lips and the hand that wasn't on the door frame, which had come up to gently cup the back of her neck, more to keep contact with her than anything else. He still wasn't caging her in against the door. She had instinctively backed up against it, and he still leaned in over her with his arm over her head against the door frame. But he intentionally kept his body off of hers and didn't crowd her against the solid wood behind her, despite her hands at his waist pulling him forward toward her which he resisted easily.

He took his time kissing her, firmly but gently running his lips over hers again and again. But this time when her lips parted in invitation, he wasted no time in plunging his tongue into the warm recesses of her mouth, marveling that he could still taste the sweet flavor of the Tej on her tongue even so long afterward. Combined with the amazing taste of Temperance Brennan, it was a taste he could easily get used to. As his tongue again explored the still-new territory he longed to become intimately acquainted with, more boldly this time, his hand at her neck pulled her closer toward him even as he took a small step forward toward her. His body still didn't touch hers, but he was close enough to feel the heat radiating off of her as she moaned into his mouth and let her tongue start battling back with his.

Only when he felt like his head was spinning and that if he waited one more second to wrench his lips away he was going to end up pinning her against the door with his hips and helping her with that zipper did he finally stop the intimate dance of their tongues and bring the intensity back down. Reluctantly, he ended it with a final adoring kiss against her lips, before pulling away to look in satisfaction at her pink, kiss-swollen lips and dazed eyes.

Before she could say a word, he smirked at her, still leaning over her. "I'd like to take you out again sometime."

Catching on more quickly than he'd expected, she shrugged noncommittally, playing along. "Perhaps, if I don't have other plans. This is only a first date, after all. It would seem to be wise to keep my options open."

Kidding or not, that comment brought out the _mine_ reaction in him as he quickly recaptured her lips for one more good, firm kiss with a hint of possession...a sensation she secretly thrilled to, though she wouldn't have admitted to that reaction under any circumstances.

"Like hell, Bones," he mock growled, mostly kidding. "You're definitely taken." He sealed those words with yet another hard, claiming kiss. But this time she was ready for him, deftly slipping her tongue into his mouth before he could withdraw, pulling him against her so that their chests were molded together with the satisfying firmness of the door against her back. Withdrawing her tongue just as she felt him drop his arm from the doorframe and slide it behind her lower waist to pull her in snugly against him, she instead nipped and sucked lightly on his lower lip until Booth forgot all about leaving and took back control of the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her in a flurry of lips, teeth and tongue like he wanted to devour her right there in her hallway.

Part of her thought he might have if the elevator hadn't dinged, signaling the arrival of one of her neighbors and causing him to reluctantly break the kiss, breathing deeply. Brennan watched as a young neighbor she didn't know quickly made her way off the elevator and into the closest apartment to it, before turning her eyes back to Booth, whose arm had never released her waist. Her breath caught when she took in the unbridled desire in his eyes, drawing a shudder of pure anticipation from her at the smoldering darkness in them. She suspected he had never taken his eyes off of her to even glance at whoever had come off the elevator.

"I think it's time for me to go, baby," he told her somewhat huskily. He drew a deep shaky breath and released her completely before leaning in ever so briefly to plant a chaste peck on the corner of her mouth, not daring to make full contact with her lips for even the most chaste of kisses. "Good night, Bones."

She felt frozen in place as she somehow managed a reply. "Good night, Booth."

She didn't move, so he reached around her and opened her door, gently urging her through it. "Lock up, Bones. I'm not moving 'til I hear that deadbolt slide. Don't open it for anybody but me tonight, do you understand?"

True to his word, he waited for the deadbolt to slide - and then he dropped his forehead against the outside of her door and tried to get his breathing under control before enacting the next part of his plan.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Brennan wasn't even all that surprised when she heard an almost hesitant sounding knock at her door almost precisely 12 minutes and 30 seconds after Booth left.

After all, it had been Booth - along with Sweets - who'd taught her to pay attention to every nuance of conversation during interrogations, and she had caught his remark about not opening the door the rest of the night...for anyone but him. She wasn't entirely sure that meant he was coming back, but it was definitely enough of an implication that she had decided not to change yet other than to take her shoes off. Booth seemed to really _like_ her dress, and actually she did too. Since it had cost quite a large sum of money, it was only logical that she get some wear out of it. While the shoes were equally expensive and he really seemed to like those as well...well, it was also only logical that she remove them before she inflicted permanent damage to the skeletal structure of her feet, if she hadn't already.

She opened a brand new bottle, poured herself a glass of wine, and answered her e-mails while she waited to see if he would show back up, including one e-mail from Angela wanting to know if her date with Seeley Booth had been as good as Angela had always dreamed. She replied that although she had no way of knowing exactly how Angela had visualized such an experience, she still felt confident in asserting that it was actually far superior...and that she wasn't entirely certain it was over yet.

Not doubting for a moment that it was Booth at her door as she hit send on that e-mail, she took the time to quickly log off of her computer before making her way over and reaching for the knob with no intention of bothering with the peephole. Who else could it be?

But what she didn't expect when she opened the door was a completely empty hallway with no one in sight.

"Booth?" she even called, looking back and forth. Had she imagined the knock on her door? It had, in her mind, been rather quiet and hesitant sounding. Perhaps she'd been so convinced Booth was coming back that she'd convinced herself she heard something she didn't.

Frowning, she closed the door again, hesitating just a moment before sliding not only the deadbolt but the chain into place, thinking that Booth was starting to get to her with all of his overprotective precautions. Returning to her computer, she hit the button to start it back up, struggling with a slightly uneasy feeling that kept much more of her attention than normal attuned on her front door and any sound from her hallway.

It was silent for the moment, and she berated herself for behaving childishly.

But before her computer was even back up, when she had barely sat back down, she became aware of something she normally wouldn't have even heard...footsteps making their way down her hallway toward her door. Heart suddenly pounding, she rose to her feet and stood in indecision for a moment, fighting the beginnings of fear. There were other apartments past hers, after all, she rationalized. It could be a neighbor returning home.

But the footsteps had stopped just outside her door, she suddenly realized. And although she was highly skeptical of Booth and his insistence upon knowing things with one's _gut_ , she suddenly thought she might have some idea what he meant. Someone was standing there and she _knew_ it. But they weren't knocking...

Her eyes squeezed shut as she fought what she now recognized as the beginning stages of a flashback. Despite her best effort to keep her focus on the room in which she stood, she couldn't entirely stop the suddenly vivid memories of her time spent cuffed to a bed in Albania, listening helplessly to the approaching footsteps of the men who wanted to jam a needle into her veins and fill her with addicting, mind-stealing drugs while she lay there at their non-existent mercy, powerless to stop them. And the worst had been when the men with the buckets of syringes were 'working' in the next curtained-off area, steps silent for the moment...

It made no logical sense how silence could be more frightening than the most ominous sound.

The sudden rapping of knuckles made her jump when they sounded against her door, and suddenly it was as if two worlds merged in her mind. Heart racing, she tasted the bile that rose in her throat as she fought the sudden and completely irrational fear that one of her captors was in her hallway, toying with her. Edon's face flashed through her mind most strongly. Rationally, she knew he was dead and gone, and that had he not ambushed and drugged her the first time, she could easily have bested him physically anyway. But none of that rationality stopped her from quickly and quietly going down the hallway to her bedroom in search of the handgun she kept stashed in her dresser.

… ooo … ooo …

It took Booth just less than 15 minutes to make it back to her door...13 minutes and 40 seconds, to be exact, he noted, not that he'd been counting. He had an overnight bag in his vehicle, so he had just run down and grabbed it, then used his key to her pool to get into the small shower and changing area that went along with it - which, given the time of year and late hour, was deserted. His coat and shoulder holster were first to go, followed quickly by his carefully pressed dress shirt and pants, all of which he unceremoniously shoved into the bag in favor of blue jeans and a soft plaid flannel shirt he left open over a faded black t-shirt that had seen better days. He could just as well have changed at her place, but he really wanted to draw a distinction between their date and the rest of the evening. The date just seemed more...special that way, somehow. And he wanted the rest of the evening to be a very relaxed, low-key one.

As he reached her door, he realized he'd left the movie he intended to present as his reasoning for being there in his bag. Dropping the bag to the floor, he knelt in front of her door to paw through and retrieve the movie before knocking, so he'd have it in hand when she came to the door. He grinned as he imagined her reactions to watching it...well, and as he imagined her wrapped up in his arms _while_ reacting to it.

 _Just please, Bones...please have already changed clothes._

… ooo … ooo …

By the time Brennan's hand was filled with the reassuring weight of her gun, the knocking had resumed again, heavier and more insistently. And she even imagined that she heard a man's voice calling through the door, though she couldn't make out the words from all the way in her bedroom. A type of fear she was unaccustomed to gripped at her throat, and she fought with everything she had to overcome it as she took a few steps down her hallway, trying to hold her gun hand steady as she approached her living room and her door.

At that moment, her home phone rang.

The sound broke through to her, though not soon enough for her to answer it as her eyes closed and she fought toward the surface to break free of the memories that had hold of her. After a few moments it stopped ringing.

But it had been just enough to bring her back to the present, just enough to realize that neither opening her door nor blindly shooting through it would be the wisest decision. Even though whoever was standing there was knocking again, after first having tried to turn the locked knob.

So she found herself doing the last thing she had ever thought she would do in such a situation…which coincidentally also happened to be the very _first_ thing Booth would have told her to do. Edging toward her computer, where she had dropped her bag and phone, eyes glued to her door, she picked up her cell phone and called Booth.

"Bones?" he answered after a couple rings. He kept talking before she could say a word. "I was just starting to get worried. I'm at your door. Don't you hear me knocking?" As if to demonstrate his point, he knocked again, and this time she heard it both through the phone and through the door.

She pulled the mouthpiece away from her mouth as her breath left her all in a whoosh, gun hand dropping to her side, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to get her panicked reaction under control. The entire story almost came spilling out... _almost_.

But quickly she decided that her initial impulse had been correct and she must have imagined the original knock. The last thing she wanted to do was let on to Booth how frightened she'd been by something so ridiculous - or by _nothing -_ because she suspected the first thing he would do is start backpedaling on their new agreement about when to move forward. He didn't need to know that she was imagining danger where there was none, or he would almost certainly start to do the same thing where _they_ were concerned.

His serious voice as he had laid down the fourth rule from the list of massage rules - the one about her not hiding any type of fear from him, no matter what - came back to her mind clearly, but it was a voice she simply chose to ignore at the moment.

"I'm fine," she told him, returning the phone to her mouth and hating how she sounded slightly shaky. "I was just..."

She was just _what_ , she asked herself? Preparing to shoot her partner and self-proclaimed lover through the door because she had an overactive imagination and had for one brief second thought that maybe Tolka was out there, even though she knew full well he was dead and gone at Booth's hands? There was nothing she could tell Booth that wouldn't either be a lie or have him on the phone with Dr. Wyatt in the middle of the night. Nor did she want to deal with just how badly she was starting to shake when she thought about what could have happened with that gun in her hands if she hadn't got herself under control. So she amended her statement.

"I'll be there in a minute."

Quickly moving back to her bedroom and returning the gun to its place, she picked up the receiver on her home phone from her nightstand and pressed a couple buttons to see who had called. Angela…no doubt wanting more details of her evening than she had provided in her email. Her hand trembled as she put her phone down, feeling the overwhelming urge to hug her best friend the next time she saw her. She glanced in the mirror and glared disapprovingly at her pasty white reflection before quickly padding barefoot to the door to open it and let Booth in, keeping the cell phone in her ear for some reason.

"Bones, are you all right?" she heard in her ear, in the breath before she opened the door to see 6 feet of concerned FBI agent in jeans and a ridiculously soft-looking flannel shirt over a t-shirt she could only assume boasted the name of a band she'd never heard of, clutching his phone against his ear like it was a lifeline to her. An overnight bag rested at his feet, and its presence was almost as comforting as his. She was surprised how overwhelming her weakness was, and just how hard it was to fight the strongest temptation she'd ever felt to fling herself at him and hold on for dear life. What had she almost _done?_

Booth slowly removed the phone from his ear and blindly hit the button to disconnect as his eyes traveled up and down her, filled with concern for the moment rather than the heat she had anticipated when he found her still in her dress.

"Are you okay, Bones?" he repeated, moving forward to step into her apartment, his eyes automatically glancing all around to make sure nothing appeared to be disturbed, his posture showing unmistakably that his body was fully on alert and ready to defend if necessary. For a half second there, he'd thought she was about to jump on him like a life raft, and it had shaken him a little.

"You sounded a little..." He trailed off, not really knowing exactly _what_ he had heard in her voice. It wasn't something he was used to, and that was all he needed to know in order to be concerned.

"I'm fine," she told him again, desperately trying to keep the shake out of her voice as she remained at the door clutching the doorknob to keep herself at bay. "What are you doing here?" There. That almost sounded normal, she congratulated herself.

Giving her the once-over one more time and deciding she was at the very least physically unharmed, it finally registered that she was still wearing her dress. He almost groaned. "What do you think I'm doing here, Bones? I was kinda hoping you'd let me stay so we could keep working on that experiment of yours."

"Experiment?" she asked distractedly, cursing the tears she could feel gathering in her eyes at her relief that Booth did indeed intend to stay with her. And that she hadn't shot him. What was _wrong_ with her? Turning her back on him, she took her time slowly relocking the door for the night.

"Yeah, you know, the usual. I fight off your nightmares, you fight off mine, we fight off each oth-..." He stopped in mid-word as he saw her hand shoot up to swiftly wipe away a tear, but not so fast that he didn't see it or realize instantly what she had just done. "Jesus. Bones, what's wrong?" he asked, already moving toward her, his face a mask of utter seriousness. He reached out a hand to gingerly touch her shoulder, and when she didn't jump he used that hand to gently but firmly turn her to face him, ignoring the mild resistance she put up. Both hands landed on her shoulders as his knees bent just far enough to get his face below hers so that he could look up and see her, since she stubbornly stared at the ground refusing to meet his gaze. "You're crying," he breathed, sounding absolutely stunned as he brought one hand up to her cheek and felt the wetness there.

"It's nothing," she told him, her voice a little stronger, finally looking up so he could return to his full height. "I just - I thought..."

Fear. It was a normal human reaction. So why couldn't she just _admit_ it to him? Why did some part of her still fear he'd think less of her?

"Did you have a flashback?" he asked, bracing himself for the answer as he continued to wipe the dampness from her cheeks.

"No," she told him swiftly, shaking her head for emphasis. "Not really," she amended, because one _had_ started but had ended the moment her phone rang.

"But you remembered something? Something bad?"

She hesitated before nodding her head, being careful not to lie to Booth. But for a moment she _had_ half expected Tolka to barge through her door, so she supposed memory was as accurate a description as any other she could think of. "Yes. I know it's irrational and ridiculous, but..."

He cut off her attempt at belittling herself by simply doing what she had fought so hard to keep herself from doing - he drew her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her, an embrace to which she immediately surrendered and wrapped her own arms tightly around him in return. She was holding on so tightly it almost frightened him.

"It's not irrational _or_ ridiculous, Bones," he attempted to soothe her, talking into her hair in a low voice. "It's just gonna happen for a while, okay? Sweets said it's normal, remember?" He held on tightly and buried his face in her hair, pushing down his own fear.

He'd only been gone less than 15 minutes...

Trying to stay calm, he tried to remember her face as she'd gone back into her apartment when he left, searching his memory for any clue what had gone wrong. He'd made a pretty good attempt at sucking her lips right off of her face about 10 seconds before he'd left, but she had seemed _more_ than fine with it. In fact, she was the one who'd grabbed him and pulled him up against her that last time while simultaneously trying to lick his tonsils, so he was pretty sure it wasn't him who had her so freaked out...he really, really hoped it wasn't him, or he was about to be going back on that promise about the third date.

"This is twice in two days," he sighed, letting one hand get lost stroking through her hair as he held her, and thinking about the day before when she'd reacted so strongly to being arrested. She'd scared the hell out of him then. "What's going on, baby? What triggered it?"

Again that hesitation from her, one that was beginning to give him pause...enough so that when she remained silent for another moment, he released her head to grip her shoulders and put her far enough away that he could see her face. "Bones? Answer me."

"Nothing. It really was nothing," she told him after an uncomfortable moment. But again, she really believed it _was_ nothing...that the first knock she'd heard hadn't really happened. So it wasn't a lie - simply a statement of fact. None of which made her feel any better about just how close she'd come to blowing a hole straight through her door, unaware that _Booth_ was standing on the other side of it.

His hands rubbed a soothing path up and down her arms, accepting that answer despite what his gut was screaming at him. "But you did remember _something_." At her nod, he pulled her a little closer, still keeping her where he could see her face.

"Is that why you tried to call me?" he asked, hoping more than he'd care to admit that that was the case and that she'd _wanted_ him to return. He would _never_ want to reduce her to a weak-willed woman who was entirely dependent on him or anything; far from it. But sometimes he wanted to feel like she needed him at least a little bit, too. Because he definitely needed _her_ , in a way that had the capacity to scare him senseless.

This time when she hesitated, he almost called her on it - _almost_. "Yes," she finally answered firmly, thinking that it was at least mostly true. "Thank you, Booth."

He pulled her back into his chest and pressed a fierce kiss onto the top of her head. "Anytime, Bones. Anytime."

He held her until he felt her pliant and relaxed against him, before finally pulling away with another kiss to the top of her head. "I brought us a movie. What do you say? Me, you, the couch, and I'll order a pizza from that place that stays open all night?"

She nodded strongly. "I have a fresh bottle of wine that I just opened after you left. I suspected you might return tonight."

He smiled at that, not really minding being predictable when it was Bones doing the predicting. "That why you're still wearing that dress? To torture me?"

She weighed several witty responses, before deciding on a simple, "Yes," which brought a chuckle from him at her honesty.

"Get the wine, Bones. I'll order delivery."

"What's the movie?" she asked suspiciously, already moving toward her kitchen.

"Don't worry, you'll love it," he called after her as he pulled out his phone, not exactly answering the question. "It's about mummies, and it's a classic."

… ooo … ooo …

They ate pizza, sipped wine, occasionally made out and eventually just cuddled on her couch as The Mummy played. She seemed to be more content the more tightly he held her, so he eventually just backed up to the arm of the couch with her between his legs and her back against his chest, before snagging her hands and wrapping all four of their arms snugly around her midsection with his arms over hers, their fingers laced together with his closed over hers. He cradled her legs between his, wrapping her up almost completely in his warm body with his chin dropped down on her shoulder.

The only tense moment had come near the beginning of the movie while they waited for their pizza, back when he'd been simply sitting beside her on the couch with an arm thrown snugly around her shoulders. He'd felt the way she tensed when the delivery guy knocked on her door, but he didn't get long to ponder it since he had to go get their pizza. She'd been fine by the time he returned, so he chalked it up to nerves about Stallings being out there somewhere and just thanked his lucky stars he could be there with her.

He didn't want to let go when the movie ended, and thankfully she didn't seem to want him to either. She'd slid down some in his embrace, her head now thrown back peacefully against his shoulder. For the last 45 minutes of the movie, she'd made no move to remove her hands from his to end the four-armed embrace he held her in. "While that was certainly entertaining, Booth," she gently chided as the credits rolled, "I'd hardly go so far as to call it a classic."

"Oh, come on, Bones, not the old boring kind of classics. It's a _modern_ classic. And besides, y'know, we kinda missed some of the good parts." He sounded pretty pleased about that, actually.

"Hm." She sounded extremely skeptical, but too content to bother arguing the point. In fact, he highly suspected she was about to fall asleep.

"We need to go to bed, Bones. You wanna just stay out here?"

"No. I need to change."

"You want _me_ to stay out here?"

"No. Your back. Come to bed with me."

It was what he'd hoped she'd say, but he hadn't wanted to assume. But now that he knew for sure what she wanted, he took charge of making it happen. He maneuvered her so he could get his legs down and just pick her up bridal style, ignoring her extremely sleepy and half-hearted protest that she could walk just fine. He carried her to her bedroom and set her gently on the edge of the bed before lightly dropping a kiss on her lips and leaving her to get changed for bed while he went to retrieve his own bag.

Not bothering with the guest bathroom, he just stayed in her living room as he quickly shed his flannel and swapped his jeans for a pair of sweatpants while trying not to think of her shimmying out of that little dark-red dress in her bedroom. He was mostly successful in that attempt, although not so successful in trying not to imagine what she'd worn underneath it on the off-chance that she could seduce him into bed that night. Not a good thing to be thinking about when he was about to climb into bed with her under a strict 'no sex' policy that he had a feeling she might try to get him to break. He hesitated for a second before stripping his t-shirt off too...but he'd just about burned up the last night he'd spent with her, and he was fairly certain she wasn't going to complain.

Just before they fell asleep, as she cuddled up against his chest - once again wearing his 'Booth' t-shirt that now seemed to be her sleepwear of choice - she yawned; and then, with a sleepy voice, proceeded to make his heart stop.

"I enjoyed our second date, Booth."

His mouth fell open slightly as his head tilted down to look at the top of her head cradled against his chest, her face not visible to him. "You wanna run that by me again, Bones?"

"I said I've enjoyed our second date."

He was wide awake all of a sudden. "This was our _first_ date, Bones."

She seemed to be rising to the argument as well, no longer sounding quite as sleepy either. "No, I'm quite certain that this evening qualified as our second. You arrived after midnight which means it was on a separate day from our first date. We had a pizza dinner which you paid for, along with a bottle of wine, a movie, and physical foreplay. That's a date as I understand the definition. Perhaps we should consult your dictionary?"

Swallowing hard, he tried to decide whether or not he even wanted to argue the point like she clearly expected him to. Deciding he really, really, really didn't, he took a deep breath and gave in.

"I enjoyed our second date too, Bones," he agreed, feeling her breathing speed up at his unexpected agreement.

His arms tightened around her just a little, barely believing this was happening. The next time they went out, he'd be making love to the woman he'd been in love with for as long as he could remember. He started making his way toward hard as a rock in record time, and he had no doubt she probably felt it since she was practically lying on top of him with one of her legs nestled between his. He was unbelievably nervous, his breathing a little shallow as he upped the ante to make it even a little more real. "While we're on the topic, I'd like to ask you out again. Are you free a week from tomorrow…next Friday?"

"Yes," she answered him quickly, raising her head to look at him and no longer sounding sleepy at all. Instead, she just looked seductive as hell, her eyes dark and wanton. "I'd like that."

Booth licked his suddenly dry lips. "You're sure?" he asked, reaching out an inexplicably shaking hand to gently push hair back off of her forehead, knowing she understood the deeper meaning his words held.

Her gaze never wavered. "Yes. Are you?"

His eyes fluttered shut, willing himself not to do anything stupid like flip her on her back right then and there. "God, yes, Bones. I'm pretty damn sure."

Her head settled on his chest for one all-too-brief moment, and then she tried to stop his heart again by rolling off of him onto her back beside him, her arms reaching across and pulling him toward her. He relented only far enough to roll onto his side where he could hold himself up on an elbow and look down at her, preventing her from pulling him fully on top of her.

"What are you doing, Temperance?" he asked her roughly, fighting a fierce battle with his quickly waning self control. If she kept this up...well, he had his limits.

"I want you to kiss my neck," she told him very clearly and without a hint of embarrassment.

His head cleared almost instantly, his body unintentionally flinching slightly away from her as warning bells seemed to ring through his entire body, his arousal beginning to fade as he realized the seriousness of her request. "Bones...no."

"It's okay, Booth. You said yourself that there were certain obstacles we needed to overcome by trial and error, and that this would be one of them. I've been thinking about it, and I'd like to try."

It wasn't the trial part that scared the hell out of him. It was the error part. Memories from Albania flooded him.

"Here? In _bed_? With me on top of you." It wasn't even a question by the time he got to the third part - more like a flat statement. His tone alone conveyed just how huge a mistake he thought that would be, and she hesitated a moment before seeming to agree with him.

Sitting up, she crossed her legs and faced him, and this time he didn't even notice that she was sitting there cross-legged in nothing but his shirt and her panties. He couldn't have dragged his eyes from her face even if she'd been naked as the day she was born.

"Perhaps you're right. But it _would_ seem logical to overcome this particular obstacle very soon if we intend to have sex one week from tomorrow."

He sat up beside her, his eyes locked hard on hers, unable to argue with the truth of that statement. "But _here?_ _Now?_ What if you have a flashback? What if you get scared of me? That's not what I want either of us thinking about next time we're in your bed."

"I won't." She'd moved up on her knees and was inching toward him again, getting a little closer with each statement as though she hoped he wouldn't notice. "I won't run from you. I won't be scared of you. I won't have a flashback."

He almost looked frustrated with her, and in some ways he was. She just didn't seem to understand sometimes the gravity of her impulsive requests and the position she ran the risk of putting him in. Sometimes it felt like he had a much harder time getting over one of her flashbacks about him than she did, and that she just had no clue what it did to him. He could feel the mild anger flashing in his eyes.

"Not good enough, Bones. You can't know that. I'm not doing this tonight, after two flashbacks, in your bed, laying right on damn top of you, on some kind of impulsive whim."

It should have told him something that she didn't even bat an eye at his best clenched-jaw warning stare that dangerous men twice her size had retreated from. That alone should have clued him in that she wasn't particularly frightened of him. But if that didn't, her next action surely did. Swift as lightning, she straddled him, sitting on his lap with her arms draped across his shoulders, her thighs spread wide across his.

"You're not on top of me. I'm on top of you."

He closed his eyes, not sure which emotion was hitting him the hardest: frustration, protectiveness, fear, love, desire, or some strange combination of all five.

"Why tonight? Why _right now?_ "

He opened his eyes in time to see her lick her lips as she considered her answer, then bite her lower lip slightly as though trying to decide whether to tell him. "Because I've been thinking about it. When you kissed me outside my door tonight..."

"You thought about it then?" he asked, his voice still a little gruff.

She nodded at him, just a hint of shy vulnerability showing in those blue eyes and draining the last of his irritation right out of him. He dreaded the next question, but it had to be asked. Every trace of harshness disappeared from his voice, in favor of mild trepidation. "Tell me the truth. Were you hoping I would or hoping I wouldn't?"

There was something to be said for raw honesty, he decided, even when it sucker punched a guy right in the gut. "Both," she whispered.

"Okay," he managed back, as breathless as if she actually _had_ punched him. He was pretty sure he understood what she meant by that - mostly because it was the same thing he was going through right then - and he was grateful for the brutal honesty.

"I want you to make love to me after our next date, Booth," she told him guilelessly but with just a hint of that same vulnerable shyness he'd just seen in her eyes. "But I also want to be able to anticipate it throughout this week without still having this..."

She seemed to struggle for words, so he supplied the right colloquialism before she could butcher it, knowing exactly what she meant. "Hanging over our heads."

Gratefully, she gave him a tiny smile, tinged with just a bit of breathless anticipation as she could see she'd won him over and he was going to do this for her. "Precisely. Not literally of course, but...yes."

He was studying her so seriously that for an instant she almost wanted to hide. But although they both knew the decision was already made, that feeling fled her when he slowly nodded to indicate his agreement.

She tensed despite herself, thinking that he was going to just lower his head to her neck immediately. It was an odd sensation, to both crave and almost dread something with equal amounts of intensity. She wished she knew how to convey to him that it was her _own_ reaction and memories she truly feared, far more than she felt any real trepidation of _him_ or his touch _._

But rather than immediately moving in, he instead slowly brought two fingers up to her neck, searching her eyes for permission before he gently laid those fingers against her neck near her ear and lightly stroked the back of them down her skin in a loving caress, his eyes locked on what he was doing and avoiding her eyes for the moment.

"I tried to get you to look up and see the cameras," he told her suddenly, his voice thick with the emotion of discussing a topic they'd both avoided but there was no longer any running from. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he was making sure she fully understood before he took this kind of chance. Maybe it would help her. Maybe it would help them both. "I kept looking up, begging you in my mind to follow my eyes...to just look up and see them. Bones, I was _desperate_ for you to see them." The raw quality to his voice proclaimed the truth in his words.

Her eyes fluttered shut against the gentle touch, which brought her absolutely no fear or desire to run.

"I know."

"But you tried to talk to me instead," he continued, his eyes haunted as he touched her skin like it was so fragile it might shatter if he wasn't careful. "I was stalking you, and you didn't even run from me. You just tried to ask what I was doing." He stopped and swallowed hard, his fingers halting against her skin for a moment as he relived it. "It broke my heart, Bones, but I had to stop you. I couldn't let them hear you and figure out I was there for _you_. I was too afraid they'd hurt you."

"They'd have hurt you too, Booth," she told him seriously, more focused on his words than his touch at that moment, and for once trying to get him to meet _her_ gaze instead of the other way around.

"I didn't care."

"I do." Her arms which had been casually draped across his shoulders pulled back so she could grip them with her fingers instead. "I know you did what you had to."

"But did you know _why_?" he asked a little desperately as he tentatively and reverently skimmed his fingers once more over the creamy flesh of her neck, a part of her that had felt so completely forbidden for what seemed like forever now. "Did you know why I did it exactly that way...why it was your neck I went after?"

His touch, in that spot that had loomed like a barrier between them, was bringing her more pleasure than she'd have thought possible. She could only hope her reply wasn't going to in turn hurt _him._

"No," she whispered, eyes drifting shut again as his fingers moved to run down the other side of her neck, still caressing lightly and bringing out goosebumps all over her. Her head fell just slightly to the side this time to give him a little more access, not even realizing she'd done so. "I still don't."

He waited until her eyes opened, and then brought both hands up to rest his fingers against either side of her neck in the most gentle touch imaginable, the tips of them brushing her earlobes. "So I could talk to you. Without them hearing. So I could get close enough to try to tell you what was going on…why I was doing what I did."

"But I didn't fully understand," she filled in, feeling the tears begin to form in her eyes, more for his obvious pain than for herself.

"I know," he told her, his voice breaking as he saw her eyes moisten. "But that wasn't the only reason."

The fingers of one hand slid around to her mouth to run a reverent finger over her lips. "I knew what I was going to have to do, Bones…just how far I might have to take it. And I was scared to death you'd hate me the rest of our lives. But I still couldn't give up hope that we'd get here one day. That's why I didn't just kiss you _here_ to keep you quiet," he told her, still tracing her lips. "I didn't want you to have any bad memories if I ever got to kiss you for real."

She did the only thing she knew to do. Her hands slid down from his shoulders to his chest, briefly pausing and resting against the skin directly over his heart as she kissed the fingertip that he was skimming over her lips. It felt to her like a woefully inadequate reaction, but she was unsure how else to convey the depth of what she was feeling.

It was almost overwhelming that he'd been protecting this relationship even before it started - protecting _her_ with so much passion. She'd never considered the fact that his terrifying assault on her neck in that horrible room in Albania, before pushing her onto the bed under him, had actually been just one more calculated way of causing her the least damage. She had no idea what to say. And the only person who could have helped her figure that out was the person who needed to hear it. But he breathed in deeply as she made that small gesture of kissing his finger. She saw his Adams apple bob, never understanding that she'd communicated to him perfectly. Helplessly, she dropped her hands completely off of him onto her thighs, the fresh pain in his eyes making her begin to regret what she'd started.

His hands responded by dropping down to her shoulders, sliding down her arms and briefly clasping her fingers in a grateful squeeze before slipping under the hem of her t-shirt - well, _his_ t-shirt. They settled skin-to-skin at her waist, where his thumbs immediately began stroking upwards across her ribcage just below her breasts. He didn't even brush them, but he got his point across about what other area he'd used her neck to avoid.

"What I had to do was bad enough. But past a certain point I didn't care what they expected me to do, Bones. I'd have taken them all on barehanded before I'd have taken it any farther. I _need_ you to know that," he confessed hoarsely, his eyes burning into hers as his thumbs finally went high enough to barely brush the undersides of her breasts. "I wouldn't have touched you like _this_ against your will. I couldn't."

"Booth," she whispered, hands rising to grip him at his waist. She was ready to tell him to stop - that he didn't have to do this. For the first time, she felt a little guilty for pushing him so hard when it was so clear that he just desperately didn't want to do anything to lose her.

But his hands slipped out from beneath her shirt then, skimming back up the outside with determination, and this time letting his thumbs just barely skip across her nipples through the shirt as his fingers burned a path back toward her neck. With a gasp, her words died in her throat.

She shivered when she felt his hands at her neck again, sweeping all of the hair off of her right shoulder, gently pulling it around behind her neck and letting it fall over the left one, wordlessly telling her he'd picked a place to start. He hadn't even really touched her yet, but she bit her lip, his name tearing out of her on a breathy sigh.

"Booth..."

"It's okay, Bones," he told her, his voice trembling as his face approached her. "I'd never hurt you."

Again, his lips didn't land on her neck like she was braced for, no longer able to discern how much of the tension in her body was from longing and how much from nervousness. Instead, his lips fell softly on her forehead, and then began to travel. All over her brow, her lashes, the bridge of her nose, her cheeks he pressed the softest kisses. His hands came to rest lightly at her hips.

Slowly, his kisses moved outward toward her jawline, pausing as he felt her tense, then continuing at a slower pace when she relaxed again. "It's okay," he told her again, fingers reflexively gripping her hips a bit tighter. "I've got you."

He took his time making his way up and down her jawline. And then suddenly he pulled back, looking her straight in the eyes. Her arms flew back up to clutch his shoulders, her mouth forming a response to the question he hadn't even asked. "Yes."

Leaning in, his lips hovered millimeters above the flesh of her neck just below her ear, and she felt the shaky breath he expelled against her neck as he licked his dry lips. "I love you, Bones. I think I always have."

And then his mouth was pressed against her in the softest, sweetest caress imaginable. But despite the tenderness of the touch, she still felt the wave of tension wrack her body at the strangely familiar but unfamiliar sensation. Just like in Albania. Just like in that motel room when he'd tracked her down after she ran. They had both known it was probably coming, but her suddenly stiff posture didn't hit him with any less force because of that prior knowledge. He started to pull back, certain she'd push him away at any moment. But rather than pushing him away, one of her hands instead flew to the back of his head, fingers clutching at the soft, short hair at the back of _his_ neck as she held him against hers.

"Please, Booth...don't stop."

He was as tense as she was. "Bones..." he whispered,

"It's okay. I'm all right, Booth. Please." She bit her lip as she felt his lips brush experimentally against her neck once more, the wave of unease not hitting her quite as forcefully this time.

As gently as he'd ever touched another person, Booth made his way down her neck toward her throat, barely applying any pressure. "Talk to me, Bones," he shakily told her between kisses, not willing to take the way she still clutched his head against her as answer enough.

She'd never known it was possible to be aroused and almost painfully apprehensive at the same time; to feel an equal desire to push away as she did to pull closer. Her breath came in rapid gasps, as she teetered back and forth on the jagged edge between pleasure and uneasiness.

Every time he spoke to her, she slightly relaxed, she realized. So that was what she told him by way of response to his plea to talk to him. "Will you talk to _me?"_

She felt the soft hairs of his head tickle her cheek as he nodded in understanding against her, working his way back up the right side of her neck. "What do you want me to do, Bones? All you have to do is tell me."

Her hand fell from his neck, and he pulled back slightly to look at her, dark eyes studying her intently. She knew if he saw the slightest hesitation he'd put an end to this before she could draw her next breath.

So she didn't hesitate. Reaching up, she moved her own hair from where he had placed it over her left shoulder, pulling it around and placing it over the right before tilting her head to give him access to the newly bared skin.

She saw his jaw muscle jump, but couldn't read him. His eyes bored into hers with fierce intensity.

"Tell me this is still okay, Bones. Tell me you don't want me to stop. And don't lie to me. Please don't lie to me." The final statement was a whispered one as his hand came up to play at the ends of the hair she had just moved to give him unrestricted access.

"More," was all she said, already inching closer up his lap, feeling the exact moment that longing finally edged out apprehensiveness as her predominant emotion.

Just as gently as before, his lips tentatively pressed against the soft skin on the other side of her throat, this time pausing to ride out the brief wave of tension as she stiffened. She relaxed more quickly this time, partially due to his whispered reassurances - "It's me, Bones. Hold onto me, okay?"

Her eyes drifting shut, she did as he asked and let herself focus on the strong, masculine scent of him, the power she felt in the muscular shoulders she clutched, and how all of that power was fiercely restrained in the tender way he held her, as though he feared she'd break in his arms. It wasn't the touch of a man who meant her any harm, and briefly she wondered - as a wave of pleasure swept over her when his lips gently skimmed over a particularly sensitive point on her neck - how even in that room in Albania, drugged to the gills, she could have ever doubted otherwise for even a second. A moan of pleasure fell from her lips, and he actually paused when he heard it, as though it surprised him.

Too soon, he was pulling back again, questioning again, watching her body language for any sign that she wanted him to stop.

She didn't.

Wordlessly, she braced both hands against his broad shoulders and let her head fall all the way back, baring her throat to him in clear invitation as her hair fell back over her shoulder down her back.

For the first time since she'd straddled him, she felt what had been at best a very halfhearted erection begin to stir beneath her when he saw that trusting action from her. The significance of even that wasn't lost on her: that physical friction and unavoidable bodily reactions notwithstanding, there was no _real_ pleasure for him unless he knew there was for her as well.

"Jesus, Bones," he gritted out, his hands moving from their place at her hips. One snaked around her waist, his eyes focused on what he was doing with his other hand as it rose of its own volition to run possessively down the smooth column of her offered throat, eliciting a gasp from her as her hips suddenly rocked against him in pleasure. He immediately replaced that hand with his lips, the swiftness of the action nevertheless not causing the touch to be any less delicate than before.

Though carefully restrained and still somewhat tentative, this time there was a passion to the way his lips softly traveled up and down her throat, even daring to let the tip of his tongue dart out and taste the creamy flesh. As he did so, she rocked her hips against him again with a moan, and in so doing prompted a tiny little nip of his teeth which he immediately soothed with his tongue.

"Please, Booth..." she rasped out, not even sure what she was begging him for as her fingernails dug ruthlessly into his shoulders. But still his lips kept up their now almost torturously gentle attentions.

When he could hold back the passion in favor of gentleness no longer, he wisely took it out on her lips instead, his hand going to the back of her head and pulling it up almost roughly to slam his lips into hers. She met him with equal force, no less aroused than he, arms winding around him tightly as her tongue immediately fought his for control.

In one swift motion, one arm still at the back of her head and one still wrapped around her waist, he lifted her from him enough to raise up and flip them over. Supporting her weight, he lowered her to her back on the bed, feeling her hands come up to grasp his biceps as he did so. Their fused mouths never separating, he resisted her effort to keep her legs wrapped around him and maneuver him fully on top of her, instead coming to rest on his side slightly above and to the side of her, not letting any of his weight drop onto her as he slid one leg between her thighs.

The arm that wasn't holding his weight slid under her shoulders, pulling her up into his kiss and holding her shoulders off the bed easily as he ravaged her mouth, driven on by the fact that she gave as good as she got, grasping at him and still trying to wiggle her way completely underneath him.

It wasn't until one of her hands slipped between them into the waistband of his sweatpants and made a beeline for his straining erection that he realized it was way past time to put a stop to things. Releasing her and reaching down, he grabbed her arm and pulled away her questing fingers just in the nick of time. He rolled completely away from her, holding onto her hand until he trusted her not to do something that wouldn't really be a good idea right then.

"Time to stop, Bones," he panted, almost not even remembering the reason why. His body was screaming at him, and it wouldn't take very long with her fingers on him to finish the job they'd started together. He didn't even dare look at her, holding tightly to her arm and keeping her as much at arm's distance as he could.

She groaned her own frustration, and his grip on her arm tightened. "I know. But don't push me right now. Please."

Even she could see that he meant that, so she lay quietly listening to him try to slow his breathing, barely moving other than to clench her own thighs together with the sudden realization that she desperately needed to change her panties before even attempting to go to sleep...which more than likely wasn't knowledge that Booth would find particularly helpful at that moment. And despite his tightly clenched eyelids, there was very little likelihood that she'd be able to get up and accomplish that task without his noticing. There was also very little likelihood that he wouldn't have a stroke if he ended up having to watch. Perhaps she should have renewed her CPR certification...

To her relief, he solved that problem for her with a tight, embarrassed single chortle of laughter which didn't sound as though he actually found anything amusing. "Are you gonna be mad at me if I disappear for a few minutes to take a shower?" he asked bluntly. "Otherwise it's going to be a long night for me, Bones."

If anything, she clenched her thighs a little tighter as she wondered if it was an icy shower he had in mind or something else...and what he'd be imagining if it was something else...and exactly what would happen if she joined him.

"Go ahead. I'll be here when you get back," she promised.

She meant it reassuringly, but he flashed her a pained half smile, half grimace as he gingerly rose from the bed. "That's sort of the problem, Bones."

"Booth?" she rose up and asked just as his back was disappearing out the door.

"Hm?" he stopped patiently and asked.

"I didn't have a flashback. I think...I think I almost did at first. But when you talked to me..." She trailed off, still finding it difficult to adequately describe her emotions verbally.

"I know," he told her softly. "I'm glad, Bones. I really am. Try to go to sleep and we'll talk about it tomorrow, okay?"

Nodding, she let him leave. As soon as he was out of the room, she moved to her dresser to take care of her own clothing issue, purposely keeping her fingers away from the areas that protested most vehemently against the complete lack of any friction. One week from Friday, Booth had said. It was now Thursday, so she had one week and one day. It could only enhance the experience to let things build naturally, and deny herself the pleasure her body screamed for until he provided it himself.

In one week and one day.

But Booth had been undeniably correct about one thing. It was going to be a long night.

… ooo … ooo …

He fell asleep much more quickly than she did as she once again rested on his chest - which she noticed with some disappointment was covered by a t-shirt when he returned - but the sound of his heartbeat eventually lulled her to sleep. She must have rolled away from him at some point during the night, but the morning light found her on her side facing him with a little space between them, comfortably tucked under one of his arms which he had possessively thrown across her in sleep, one of her ankles trapped between his calves.

She had woken, as normal, a few moments before her alarm clock went off, and she took the opportunity to study his chiseled features, relaxed in sleep. Experimentally, she pulled slightly away from him, grinning to herself when his features expressed displeasure and he grumblingly pulled her back into place. Remembering his kidding comment many, many nights ago in her living room about having her for a teddy bear, she tried the same movement again with the same reaction, and had to suppress an entirely uncharacteristic giggle at the exasperated huff that left his lips in sleep. She could tell he was slowly beginning to awaken...could tell it in more ways than one.

There was no holding back her amusement moments later, however, when her alarm clock blared in its extremely harsh, brutally effective way. He almost jumped out of his skin, the arm over her snapping tight and hauling her in against him protectively even as he rose partially off the bed.

"Jesus Christ, Bones, what the hell is _that?"_ he yelled over the ungodly racket still assaulting his ears a moment later, instantly and very unpleasantly awake.

"It's an alarm clock, Booth," she raised her voice right back to be heard, barely holding back the laughter that threatened to break free at his expense. "A device typically used for the purpose of ensuring wakefulness at a predetermined time."

"I know _that!"_ he shouted, falling back onto his back and grimacing. "What I don't know is why you don't _turn it off!"_

"Then perhaps you should have stated your question in that manner to start with," she informed him as she nonchalantly maneuvered herself up and rolled across him on her belly to turn it off, trying to make her way back afterward only to have his arms snap up and hold her in place lying atop him. She grinned at him sassily. "Had you phrased your question clearly, I'd have been happy to explain that I couldn't reach it because you're on my side of the bed."

Her smile, or maybe her warm body applying just the right amount of pressure to his quickly stiffening morning erection which the alarm clock somehow hadn't managed to drive away entirely, melted away his surliness pretty quickly. He reached up to her head to pull her in for a morning kiss, savoring the way she greedily kissed him back. Not wanting to put himself back in the same state as last night, he kissed her firmly but quickly before releasing her and returning the irreverent grin she'd given him.

"That settles it, Bones," he told her, cutting his eyes to indicate the offending clock. "You're just going to have to marry me."

Her eyebrow went almost off the top of her head, but she didn't look too overly concerned. "I fail to see the connection between my alarm clock and matrimony."

He wiggled his eyebrows back at her. "Because as soon as you say yes and we set a date, we're going to register for a nice, new, quiet one."

She shifted on top of him, smirking at the way he groaned in erotic protest. "I wouldn't bet on that."

His grin returned larger, surprise showing on his face. "I think you actually used that expression the right way."

The flash of mischief in her eyes had his hands itching to roll her under him, but he restrained himself. "Used what the right way? I simply meant that if I were you, I would not place bets at all. You _are_ a degenerate gambler, after all."

So much for restraining himself.

"You know what, Bones?" Subtly, he shifted his hands to get a better grip on her without her noticing. "I'll show you degenerate..."

Playfully, he flipped them, delighted at her surprised squeal, meaning only to roll them to their sides and maybe steal a kiss or two, or tickle her a little bit if it looked like he could get away with it. But she was stronger than he sometimes gave her credit for. She managed to finish the job, putting him directly over her for the first time since the disastrous last time. Grin fading, he searched her eyes as he quickly got his hands to her sides to push his weight up off of her. Tentatively, he remained there hovering over her, suddenly very unsure.

Her eyes went through three different shades of blue, each darker than the last, as her breathing picked up. "I think..." she told him, suddenly very still, "...that I would like that demonstration very much."

Electricity crackled in the space between them as sexual tension ratcheted up to the highest level yet. Booth swallowed hard, staring into her eyes that remained locked with his. Was she really suggesting... "I was just playing, Bones. I didn't mean..."

She cut right to the heart of her point pretty bluntly. "You won't always have to be gentle, Booth. I don't want you to be."

Something flashed in his eyes, and he pushed up off the bed without touching her again. "We're not going there right now." He didn't look at her as he retrieved his t-shirt that he vaguely remembered throwing onto her floor sometime in the middle of the night when he'd gotten hot again, right before retrieving and snuggling back up to his wayward partner who'd strayed halfway across the bed. "Come on, Bones. I'll make us some breakfast." he suggested in a tightly controlled tone as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"Booth..." She hadn't moved.

"I'll meet you in the kitchen, all right?" Not waiting for an answer, he fled her bedroom for the relative safety of the living room.

… ooo … ooo …

By the time she showered, dressed and made her way to the kitchen, Booth had already dressed as well and was finishing their breakfast. A little awkwardly, he turned when he felt her eyes on him and offered her a tiny, sheepish smile. "Hey. I've got you an omelette, but I can't promise it's any good."

"Booth..."

The only sign that he'd even heard her was a slightly darker look around his eyes. "You don't have any real _eggs_. Just _this_ stuff." He pointed accusingly at the empty carton of egg substitute. "Just for the record, Bones, there _is_ no substitute for eggs. Just so you know that." Having made his point with the carton, he turned and made a perfect if somewhat harder than necessary toss into the trashcan before picking up their plates and going for the table.

"I didn't mean right now," she tried again.

"Yeah, well I mean not ever. Look, I don't want to talk about this right now, Bones, okay? I'm not shutting you out. I'm just not going there. I can't believe _you_ went there." He put his glass of 100% organic juice down with the same excess of force that he had demonstrated on the carton of fake eggs.

"I just don't want you to be hesitant to..."

"I'm not." That time as he cut her off, his tone left no doubt that he truly had no intention of discussing it.

Somewhat uncomfortably, they began eating in a strained silence, neither really tasting the food as they rhythmically chewed and swallowed.

She broke the silence first, actually a little stunned that he hadn't done so. She had only finished about half of her food. "I'm going to go. Help yourself to anything you need. Just leave the dishes in the sink and I'll wash them tonight."

He finally met her eyes again as he nodded, his own filled with something that looked a lot like regret at the way the morning had gone. "Look...give me five minutes and I'll drive you."

She shook her head quickly, not having any more idea how to get things back on track than he did. "No, that's not necessary." She rose and retrieved her bag, feeling his eyes on her. Still not sure what to say, she hesitated before going for the door. "Thank you for breakfast."

At the sight of her retreating back, he couldn't take it anymore. His head dropped briefly into his hands, which he scrubbed over his face once before making his decision. Surging to his feet, he pursued her to the door. "Hey, Bones, wait...stop, okay? I..."

She never found out what he was going to say. She had already begun opening the door when he called after her, and continued to do so even as she turned to look at him, her back toward the quickly opening doorway.

His words stopped midsentence, but she had no time to wonder why. Suddenly Booth was moving toward her so fast that she actually tensed in sudden fright. But it wasn't her he was going after. He pushed her out of the doorway with enough force that she fell to the ground inside her apartment as he rushed past her into her hallway...from which she almost immediately heard a sickening THUD as something slammed with brutal force into the opposite wall.

Only one thought sounded out in her mind, ripping its way from her throat in sheer panic.

"Booth!"

… ooo … ooo …

She'd probably be sore the next day from hitting the ground so hard, but that was the last thing on her mind as Brennan rolled from her side to her stomach and pushed quickly to her feet. Her mind couldn't process the sound she'd heard. Had it been a gunshot? An explosion? It had sounded more like some type of impact - _hard_ impact.

It didn't really matter. All she could think of was getting into the hallway to make sure Booth was okay.

But she heard him before she saw him, his voice filled with what could only be described as pure rage.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here? _Answer_ me!"

As she flew around the edge of her doorframe into the hall, she sucked in a rapid breath at the sight before her.

Booth stood up against the wall opposite her apartment, crushing someone against it. Booth's head blocked her view of the man's face, but as he tried to push Booth off of him and their tussle slid them along the wall, she understood instantly what the BOOM she'd heard had been: Booth had put whoever it was into the wall so hard he'd knocked a gaping hole in it.

… ooo … ooo …

It wasn't like Booth didn't already feel bad enough as he pursued her from the table to her front door. He did. He'd completely shut her down and frozen her out, all for wanting to have an honest discussion with him about a topic that quite frankly scared the hell out of him; especially when he had just suddenly found himself right on top of her for the first time since he'd 'attacked' her.

So he'd done the only thing he knew to do.

He'd run out of the room like his ass was on fire. And it'd only gotten worse at breakfast.

Son of a bitch. The irony was almost painful. Him running from _her._ Since when had they swapped roles?

So yeah, he already felt like a jerk and wasn't letting her leave until he'd at least apologized and made things right between them, even if he still had absolutely no intention of discussing with her exactly when or if he'd ever be able to get a little rough and aggressive with her and not end up feeling like some kind of goddamn would-be rapist all over again.

Sure, he loved the idea of being gentle with her, and they both knew that he would be for as long as she needed and then as often as she'd let him. But there was also an underlying current between the two of them that he now knew she was just as aware of as he was, one which threatened to ignite at some future time in a decidedly non-slow or gentle way; which would be fine if he wasn't scared to death of what would happen when it did. He wanted it, felt _guilty_ for wanting it, and for some reason was irritated at _her_ for wanting the same thing and all but telling him they could one day have it, when he was convinced they couldn't.

How many times had they argued slow gentleness versus passion and uninhibitedness even _before_ they were a couple? It wasn't like her feelings on the topic came as a surprise to him, though he suspected some of _his_ more well-guarded feelings on the subject might have shocked the hell out of her. They made a better match that way than she'd have thought, and he'd known it even when he was standing in front of that _incredible_ and extraordinarily expensive car a year or so before, arguing for the more 'slow and gentle' side of things. There was more than one reason he'd handed her the damn keys. Or at least they _would_ have made a better match than she'd have thought. But how could either one of them know that what she was okay with in the bedroom hadn't been drastically altered forever for her? Not something he wanted to find out the hard way, and he sure as hell didn't want _her_ finding out the hard way.

Yeah, he needed to apologize for being short with her, but he wasn't ready for that particular conversation - not when he hadn't even made love to her one single time. Until he knew whether she could even go through with that, the rest was a moot point.

But as her front door opened behind her as she turned to answer his plea for her to wait, suddenly his blood was like icewater in his veins and none of that mattered.

He'd watched the security tape from the Hot Spot about 101 times; he'd have recognized the face of Nicholas Stallings anywhere.

And at the moment, Bones was standing there with her unprotected back toward him, unaware of his presence two steps behind her in her hallway. And Booth was still halfway across the floor, with her standing between him and Stallings. Not even a clear line of sight to pull his gun.

He moved so fast he was practically a blur, but the fragments of seconds it took him to reach her still seemed like an eternity. He hit her body hard as he passed, knowing he'd knocked her to the floor but just glad to have her out of the way _inside_ her apartment where he intuitively knew she had fallen. Her body had been blocking his view of Stallings from the shoulders down, so he hadn't even known at that point whether the man had a gun pointed at her. He'd just wanted her _out of the way._

He never slowed, barreling out the door and hitting Stallings with near bone-crushing force. He still never slowed until he'd put him into the wall behind him, where he held him with the weight of his body and a brutal arm to the throat.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

TO BE CONTINUED


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Maybe it was just because he couldn't breathe, but Stallings still shouldn't have had the audacity to try to push Booth away at that point. It just pissed him off even more. Without any real effort but with a heck of a lot more force than could be considered necessary under any circumstances, Booth spun the man so he faced the wall, shoving his face hard up against it with one hand to the back of the head. Stallings' broken arm was still in a cast, so Booth grabbed the other and yanked it up behind him.

"Booth!" Bones recovered her voice at that point, as she finally recognized the man as well.

"Dr. Brennan!" Stallings called out, almost as though asking for help.

Booth ignored Brennan completely, replying to Stallings' ill-conceived plea by shoving the man a little more forcefully against the wall to get his point across about who exactly was in charge. His voice was pure venom.

"Wrong. You don't talk to _her_ , you talk to _me_. What do you want with her, Stallings?"

At the man's surprised glance backward even through his pain, Booth just twisted his wrist a little harder, ignoring the yelp of pain and the incoherent pleas. "Yeah, I know your name. I know everything there is to know about you. She may not have been the one to break _that_ arm, but I'm damn sure going to break this one if you don't tell me what you're doing here and what you want with her." Another twist for good measure.

"Booth!"

"Let me handle this, Bones!" He didn't need her expertise on the skeletal system to tell him that bones were dangerously close to snapping if he applied any more pressure. He also didn't require Sweets' expertise to tell him that it probably wasn't a good sign that he just really didn't give a shit.

Apparently Stallings came to some of the same conclusions. "I'm not here to hurt her, I swear! I'm unarmed. I just wanted to talk to her."

"Talk to her?" Booth sneered. "That why you were lying in wait in her goddamn hallway? To _talk_ to her?" He emphasized that last sentence by pulling him just far enough away from the wall to slam him the small distance back into it for emphasis.

"Booth..." Brennan's voice was soothing, seeing that he was losing control.

"I just got here!" The way Stallings winced after that statement told Brennan that Booth obviously didn't believe him, and was making that fact known in some way that she couldn't see but that Stallings could definitely feel. "Jeez, please...I was just about to knock and I heard the door opening. I just wanted to say I'm sorry and ask her to drop the charges! I made a mistake!"

Brennan took a step closer, putting a hand on one of Booth's arms. She could feel the rage coiled in him, threatening to snap like a spring wound too tightly; she also felt his muscles jump at her touch. "Booth, it's okay."

He relaxed so slightly that it was barely noticeable. "Yeah, well you can forget it, Stallings. She's not dropping anything. I'm taking you in, making sure you get charged with intimidating a witness and anything else the prosecutor can think of, and then you're going to stay the hell away from her. You hear me?"

"Yes! I'm sorry, man! I swear to God, I wasn't going to lay a hand on her. I just wanted to talk to her!"

That was the exact moment when Brennan figured out that the knock she'd heard the night before was real - that it had been Stallings, who'd probably been frightened away by the arrival of Booth.

That exact moment.

And the next moment was when everything went to hell.

"Is that why you came here last night?" Brennan asked Stallings quietly.

She had absolutely no _clue_ exactly what she had just started.

Booth's head snapped round to look at her so fast that it was a wonder his neck didn't snap, some of the tension slackening in his hold on Stallings as he gaped at the woman he'd just spent the night holding in his arms.

" _What?"_ he thundered, his teeth still gritted in anger that suddenly swung in her direction.

The question was irrelevant by the time it was out of his mouth. He'd already put 2 and 2 together...

The way she hadn't come to her door when he knocked last night; the way she'd called him on the phone; the way she'd almost jumped him when she finally opened the door; the lack of color in her face; the fear he'd seen in her eyes; the way she'd held onto him like he was the only thing between her and danger; her hesitancy to answer his questions...

...and then, of course, the way she'd stood in the middle of her goddamn living room in his arms and lied through her teeth to him about every last shred of it.

He felt like he'd just been stabbed in the gut. It was a pretty clear picture...all except for the _why._ Why had she hidden from him that Stallings had come after her? Had the man talked to her? Scared her? Put one single finger on her?

Brennan really didn't understand the look Booth gave her, drawing back slightly from the way his eyes glittered darkly and his jaw muscle ticked as he stared her down for a second before angrily shaking his head and turning his wrath back on the target he could actually take it out on.

For his part, Stallings hadn't even dared answer Brennan's question. He'd been warned about talking to her, and the man that had his only unbroken arm in an iron grip had seemed pretty serious about that warning.

Booth retightened his hold on Stallings, his voice going deadly calm. He was going to get the truth out of somebody, and he was going to get it right then.

"What happened last night?" Eyes staring at a point on the wall over Stallings' shoulder, his eyes were cold as he gave another vicious but controlled twist of the man's fingers, the only expression on his face a slight tightening of his lips as he did so. It was as though Stallings' howl of pain didn't even register. "You get one chance, so I suggest you tell me the truth. Did you touch her?"

"Booth..." Brennan was starting to sound frightened, but for once he ruthlessly ignored it.

"Okay...okay," the terrified man against the wall stammered. "I just wanted to talk to her. I knocked, but then I heard the elevator coming before the door opened so I ran! I know the cops are looking for me. I waited a few minutes, but then I saw you go in so I decided to wait until this morning and I left. I didn't know you were still here!"

There was only one thing Booth really cared about. "What were you gonna do to her?" His voice was calm and quiet in the most chilling way possible.

"Nothing! I swear to God! Look, I was going to turn myself in this morning, but I just wanted to ask her to please not press charges. I made a mistake! I've got a kid, my wife left me three months ago...I can't go to jail right now."

"And if I hadn't been here? If she didn't want to drop the charges?" Booth asked, his blood still boiling at what _could_ have happened, only intensified by his anger at her.

"Nothing! I swear to God! I'd have just left. I was drunk that night, and things just went too far and then it all snowballed. I'm not a violent guy!"

"I'm not dropping my charges against you," Brennan chimed in. "You committed a crime. And you'd be prosecuted for the false report whether I press charges or not."

Booth had had enough. He'd already been down to his truck to get his work suit while Brennan was in the shower, and he'd packed everything else he needed for work in his bag. So he was fully dressed for work, right down to his handcuffs and his gun.

Brennan watched as he pulled out the former of those two items, locking one end around Stallings' good wrist far more tightly than she suspected was really necessary, especially judging by the way the man winced. She almost winced in sympathy. She also noticed that, after running the chain through Stallings' belt behind his back, Booth didn't bother to double lock either cuff to prevent tightening after he snapped the other cuff on the same wrist, effectively chaining the man's good hand behind his back to his belt.

"Let's go," she heard her partner spit out, with what seemed like more anger than the situation really warranted, as he grabbed hold of Stallings' arm above the cast on the other side to lead him away. "And if you even think about swinging this cast at me, one broken arm's gonna be the least of your problem."

She followed them all the way to Booth's vehicle, watching in surprise as he opened the front passenger door, reached under the seat and pulled out a waist chain and a zip tie. He quickly snapped the waist chain around Stallings and then efficiently re-cuffed his good hand to it behind his back rather than through his belt, which she had to agree was far more secure; and again, she noticed, he did it none too gently and without precautions to ensure that the cuff around his wrist didn't tighten.

"Ow!" Stallings protested this time, but only received a gruff, "Shut up."

In Booth's agile hands, the zip tie quickly made its way through a link in the front of the waist chain before being cinched around Stallings' cast to hold it down so he couldn't lift or swing it like the weapon it could easily become.

Brennan looked on, still not having realized that Booth was almost as furious with her as he was Stallings. "When did you start carrying those?" she asked curiously, knowing she'd never seen him with either piece of equipment before.

He looked up at her with pain in his eyes, surprising her, and for just a moment she thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he clenched his jaw and looked away from her as he checked everything.

"Not long. Just since I found out some asshole with a broken arm and a cast had a vendetta against my partner. I like to be prepared." Still taking his fury out on Stallings, he shoved the man abruptly into the back seat, making his next statement with his back turned toward her, his voice equal parts hurt and biting sarcasm. "Which, y'know, would be a lot easier if my partner bothered to tell me the truth."

Her mouth fell open, blinking as she realized with sudden clarity exactly what he thought. "Booth..."

He whirled on her as he slammed the door shut on the man in the back, pain and anger flashing together in his eyes. "You _lied_ to me! About something that could have got you _killed!_ "

"No, I..."

"Save it, Bones. I know what I heard."

She made a move to get in the passenger seat and he blocked her. She looked at him in shock. "I'm coming with you to the station!"

His jaw clenched. "The hell you are. I'm not having you in the same vehicle with him. Go to work. I'll call you later."

The abrupt dismissal and ordering her around infuriated her, regardless of her understanding of his anger. Her chin jutted out angrily, her stance saying she had no intention of doing _anything_ he demanded. "I'll do no such thing. If you'd just listen to me..."

A tiny satisfied look crossed his face as he saw the fury on his own face reflected back at him from hers. "Oh, don't worry," he told her recklessly. "We're _going_ to talk about this. But you're the one who's going to listen."

She opened and then closed her mouth, not getting another chance to say anything to him as Booth stalked around to the driver's side and slammed the door behind himself, pulling away to take a very relieved Stallings to the police station to be booked for everything Caroline Julian could think of to get him on.

She stood there watching him drive off, so angry that she could barely think straight.

… ooo … ooo …

By 3:00 that afternoon, she couldn't decide whether to put the whole envelope through the shredder or jump at the opportunity it provided her to have an easy out from the overwhelming intensity of the situation.

Her phone hadn't rung even once, but the letter had been the first thing she found on her desk when she walked in, probably because Cam had wanted her to find it. There was even a note attached from Cam saying that she thought it was a good idea and she'd be more than happy to give her the time off, but for obvious reasons she needed to decide immediately.

She'd had the suspicious feeling ever since she returned from Albania that Cam might have been removing from her mail any invitations that would take her out of town - mostly because she had received exactly zero of them when she was used to receiving several a week.

She also suspected that if Cam had known about the problem between her and Booth that morning, she probably wouldn't be reading this one either.

But this one was only for three days, and it was only in Philadelphia. And Dr. Goodman - who had returned to his first love of pure archaeology - was the head of the archaeological team who'd issued the last-minute invitation for her to help authenticate the find he'd had shipped to the university there. It was a chance to help authenticate a prestigious find, interact with others in her chosen field as well as her former boss she'd looked up to as a type of father figure, and be part of a team that would most likely appear on a future front cover of her favorite anthropology journal. It was a chance to complete her first anthropological field trip since Albania, and restore her confidence in her skills away from any painful reminders.

And most importantly, the offer included a pre-paid plane ticket for a plane that left at 8:30 that night, probably before Booth could even show up at her apartment and she could have a chance to make things any worse.

It wasn't really running, after all. It was only three days. And then she would be back. She had every intention of coming back.

And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that Booth would probably not see it that way.

On the other hand, her worst fears appeared to be coming true. They hadn't even physically consummated their relationship yet, and already they were fighting. Again. Booth wasn't even speaking to her, which she knew for a fact because he wasn't picking up his phone any of the many times she'd tried to call him.

With a sigh, she gave up on the report she'd been trying to focus on instead of staring at the letter. Picking up the envelope, she stared at it a few moments before reaching for her phone and dialing the number she'd already memorized from reading the letter so many times. She did it quickly, before she had time to talk herself out of it.

… ooo … ooo …

At 6:00 that night, Booth sat at his desk rolling his stiff neck back and forth, willing himself to concentrate on his fifth draft of the simple administrative form he was trying to fill out, thinking that it was probably time to just stop pouting and call his partner to find out what the hell was going on with her _now._

It was kind of a moot point. He didn't really want to have this conversation on his office phone anyway, and in his haste that morning he'd left his cell on Bones' kitchen counter. It wasn't like she was likely to call him anyway, considering their last interaction. He'd been in this relationship long enough by now to know that tracking her down from wherever she'd gone to ground was _his_ role, and that he wouldn't last much longer before he did.

He just wished he could figure out whether the urge to pick up his office phone and call her immediately was just one more massive fuck-up in his battle since Albania to keep a grip on that damned 'super-hyper-arousal' Sweets had diagnosed him with and all of the bad decision making and temper losing that went along with it.

He'd thought he had that under control. He really had. Right up until the moment he'd looked past Bones into her hallway and had seen a threat - one that just happened to have _her_ right between him and it. That was all he had seen: not Stallings, even though he had recognized him instantly; not some scared kid that had done something colossally stupid. He had seen a threat; an enemy; something that potentially threatened to take her from him.

After Albania and everything that had been required to keep her safe there, he didn't react well to this new threat. For half a second, he'd had his own goddamn flashback. It had been almost like being back in that hellhole trying to save her while the enemy came at him - at _her -_ from every direction. He'd just wanted to get her out of the way and eliminate the threat.

In retrospect, maybe he'd been a little rough with the guy. Yeah, Stallings had deserved to be put through that wall. Even if there was an investigation, it would be clear that he'd just been protecting his partner on that one, not sure if there was a gun in play or not. So he didn't feel a bit bad about that. It was all the rough handling after it became clear the guy wasn't too much of a threat - something he'd assessed pretty rapidly, if he was honest - that made him realize he'd probably gone too far.

A bitter chuckle escaped him. Not that it really made him feel any better, but he already knew he was going to get away with it. It was pretty unlikely that Stallings was going to dare file a report about being roughed up when he was already sitting in a jail cell for filing one false report and intimidating a witness. He'd probably never file another report about anything for the rest of his life. That was one guy who seemed to have learned his lesson.

Now if Booth could just learn his.

What bothered him the most was that he'd lost his temper with Bones...again.

He didn't really need Sweets to explain to him that it wasn't so much _her_ he had been mad at. It was the thought of something happening to her that had scared the shit out of him and sent him flying into a fury. He'd have been pissed off at anybody that put her in danger. Unfortunately, it just so happened to have been _her_ that was guilty of putting herself in danger by not telling him Stallings had been knocking on her door the night before.

And her dishonesty _had_ put her in danger. Because when all was said and done, Stallings truly was a wild card that they didn't know very much about. It had been just as likely that he _might_ have been holding a gun when she opened that door.

But why the hell had she lied to him in the first place?

It _still_ infuriated him. Which was why he still hadn't decided if calling her was a good idea or bad idea. Until he got himself back in check again, he might just make things worse.

But before he could even finish making that decision, he looked up in surprise to see her standing there nervously at the door to his office, clutching something in her hand. Her nervousness went a long way toward melting the wall of ice that had felt like it was gripping his heart all day long. His eyes dropped to his desk briefly with the realization that she was _nervous_ of him, a sharp fear shooting through him that his slip with his self-control had sent them right back to square fucking one.

And just by her posture, he already knew without question that he wasn't going to like whatever she had in her hand. It really made him want to knock another hole in a wall, this time with Stallings' head. Or his own fist.

Instead, he looked up at her uncertainly and tried to offer her a tiny smile. He really, really didn't want to fight with her. "Hey, Bones."

She chewed on her lower lip for a minute, not answering, as his fear grew. And then she was approaching his desk, stopping right in front of it as everything she wanted to say spilled out all in a rush.

"I didn't lie to you, Booth. I didn't _mean_ to lie. I heard Stallings knock last night, but he wasn't there when I opened the door. No one was. I didn't know until today that it had been him. I was expecting you to return last night, so I thought I must have just...imagined it. Then you were there, and...and I didn't want you to think I was crazy for being afraid of something that wasn't even real."

Relief flooded him like a physical force. Thinking she had intentionally lied to him had hurt in a way he couldn't even explain. But then he saw the look on her face, the look that said she was just as uncertain of him at the moment as he had been of her. It made his heart hurt like somebody had an iron grip on it.

"Bones..." He started to rise from his desk to come around, intent on taking her in his arms and apologizing, for breakfast that morning and everything since, and just try to make her see that she didn't have to hide _anything_ from him _, ever_.

But before he could even get out of his chair, the item in her hand landed on his desk to keep him there...a small manila envelope addressed to her. His eyes shot up to her face, feeling as though his heart had literally stopped. Whatever was inside, his gut told him it wasn't good.

"I wasn't going to tell you about this, but I've decided you should know."

He focused his frightened gaze on her for a long moment before moving to pick up the envelope, hoping that that statement didn't mean what he was beginning to fear it did.

 _Please, Bones, don't do this,_ his mind screamed, but his tongue wasn't working.

The first thing that fell out was the plane ticket. The _single_ plane ticket. His gut rose up in his throat as soon as he saw what it was, and he didn't feel much better when he read it. Philadelphia. Leaving in two and a half hours. _Two and a half hours_. She was on her way to the damn airport. He didn't even look up at her.

"I'm guessing there's not another one of these in here for me. Is there." It wasn't really a question.

"No."

Resisting the urge to put it through his shredder and do something Neanderthal - or illegal - he instead picked back up the envelope and slid out the fancy letterhead, suddenly very sick to his stomach. "Dr. Goodman," he stated flatly after he read it twice without stopping. He didn't know whether to be relieved it was only 3 days and that she'd be with someone he knew would look out for her, or terrified that those three days would only be the beginning.

"Yes."

He tossed the letter onto his desk with a hard sigh and then pushed it a little farther away from him. Leaning back in his chair, he brought a weary hand up to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut as he rubbed at his temple. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. "Sounds like a good opportunity. You should go."

"It's an excellent opportunity."

"Are you coming back?" Finally he got up the intestinal fortitude to look at her, fixing her with a hard gaze. If it was the last time he'd be seeing her, he might as well make sure she had to look him in the eye before walking out on him.

She flinched under that look, her mouth opening and closing a couple times. "Not...exactly."

He, on the other hand, didn't flinch. At this point, there wasn't much else she could do to him anyway. "Define not exactly."

She sucked in a deep breath, wishing she was better at this. "I'm not going at all."

… ooo … ooo …

Booth leaned forward in his chair so fast he had to catch himself with a hand on the desk to keep it from dumping him out on the floor. But there was nothing comical about it. His serious eyes never left her face, as he stared at her intently.

"What?"

Not having the letter for her fingers to toy with any longer, she played with the belt of her coat instead. "I said I'm not going at all."

His eyes dropped to the letter on the desk. "Then why..." God, was she just trying to scare him?

As though she heard his unspoken thought, she answered it. "I was going to go, Booth. I called Dr. Goodman and accepted."

He studied her, completely lost and reeling. "Why?"

"It's an important find, and Dr. Goodman requested me. It's a chance to reestablish myself in my field and regain my confidence in my abilities."

His shoulders were so tense they hurt. He didn't dare hope. "So...then what? You were going to go without telling me, and Angela talked you out of it? Told you you needed to come talk to me first? Get my blessing? Ease your conscience?"

"No," she told him, only a brief flicker in her eyes betraying that that had _hurt_. "Angela doesn't know about this."

"Then why are you here if you accepted?" His fingers were whiteknuckling the edge of his desk. He needed a straight answer desperately.

And he got one.

"Because on my way home to pack, I couldn't stop thinking about what you said last night at dinner - that disagreements don't change anything between us. I was furious with you, but I realized that if I went I would be running and you don't deserve that. So I called back and...unaccepted. And then I came here instead."

His eyes widened, the hurt and bitterness rushing out of him like air out of a popped balloon as he realized that he was fighting the wrong battle and that she was far from being the enemy. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm his racing heart long enough to ask the question he had to ask.

"But you said it was an excellent opportunity. That this is important for you."

She nodded, looking extremely calm all of a sudden, as though whatever decision she needed to make had already been made and she intended to stand by it.

"It is. But I decided it's not important enough to risk hurting you. We had a disagreement but...I still love you."

He went almost eerily still, then drew a shallow breath...once, twice.

Jesus, what had he almost thrown away?

Pushing up from his chair, he rounded the desk in three strides, not stopping until he had her in his arms. Not really caring about the glass walls of his office - most people were gone anyway - he held her in a crushing embrace, not able to get her close enough. Finally, he released her from the fierce embrace only far enough to grab her face in his hands and kiss her like he never intended to let go of her again. But he finally wrenched his mouth away just long enough and far enough to breathe an apology into her mouth. "God, Bones, I'm a damn idiot. I'm so sorry."

"That's not..." He claimed her lips again, and she broke away long enough to finish that thought. "...entirely accurate."

And then his mouth was fused with hers again.

When they finally both had to breathe, he planted one more kiss right on her lips before pulling back to look at her, still holding her face in his hands.

God, this was the last thing he wanted to do...

But he loved her. If this was important to her...and she was willing to give it up for him...

Then he could give up the _most_ important thing in the world to him. For three days.

"We've got to go get you packed and to the airport, Bones."

She looked at him in shock. "I already told you I'm not going."

He let everything he felt for her show in his eyes as his thumbs brushed over her cheeks and he tried to memorize the exact shade of blue her eyes had been when she admitted to putting him first just because she _loved_ him.

"It's not running when you talk to me about it, Bones. If you need this...if you even want this, then I want you to go. I'll be here when you get back."

"But I already told Dr. Goodman I'm not coming."

He had to smile at that, before leaning in to press one more quick kiss against her lips. "I doubt he'll care, Bones. Come on. This is going to be close."

… ooo … ooo …

If anybody had told him when he woke up with her in his arms that morning that he'd be putting her on a plane to Philadelphia that night without him, and doing so willingly - well, at least kind of willingly - he'd have questioned their sanity.

They'd barely had enough time to get her packed and to the airport in time to make it through security; but he'd called Goodman for her and watered her plants and numerous vases of daisies and daffodils while she packed, and then had blatantly misused his siren very liberally on the way to the airport to get her there. So together they had pulled it off.

Halfway to the airport, her eyes had begun to shine with a familiar gleam he hadn't seen recently and had never realized he'd miss, as she began to get excited about the trip, about working with Dr. Goodman again, but most importantly of all about doing the work at which she was best in the world - or at least _had_ been, and he suspected she soon would be again.

He was pretty sure it actually made it worth it, as much as he was going to miss her. He could remember a time not so many days past that he'd never thought he'd see that look again.

"Bones, promise me you'll be careful," he told her, deja vu hitting him as he once again said goodbye to her in a huge rush at an airport gate, this time holding both of her hands in his.

"I will. I'll call you when I land."

But this time, instead of crushing her in a huge embrace, he pulled her in and kissed her like he was trying to burn her taste into his mouth until she got back...which he was. He only stopped when he heard them announcing final boarding. "One week from today, Bones, I'm going to make love to you. When you get back, it'll almost be time." He pulled her hands up to his lips, kissing them firmly.

She smiled at him, pulling one hand away to readjust the shoulder strap on her bag. "I'm going to hold you to that."

He forced a huge grin for her, maybe not really feeling the smile but definitely meaning every bit of the kiss and his words as he leaned in to capture her lips one more time. "I wouldn't worry too much about that if I were you."

And then she was walking away from him. At least, she was until she wasn't. She suddenly turned and launched herself back at him, in a mirror version of how he'd spun back around and grabbed her before she left for Albania. "Thank you, Booth. _Thank you_." She kissed him hard on the cheek before releasing him.

And then she was gone.

… ooo … ooo …

Brennan called him as promised when she landed, giving Booth one more uncomfortable stab of deja vu. She'd called him from Albania when she landed too. He had to remind himself once again that this trip was different.

She really had very little time to talk other than to tell him that Dr. Goodman had met her at the gate to take her to her hotel, and that somehow he had heard the news that they were now together.

Feigning ignorance and hoping she wouldn't remember exactly who it was that had called Goodman back for her, to tell him she was coming after all, he tried to change the subject quickly. But he had to smile when she completely ignored his deflection attempt and told him with just a hint of annoyance that Goodman had felt the need to express his approval, although she failed to see how it mattered whether he approved or not. The approval of her former boss meant something to Booth whether Brennan saw the point in it or not.

Booth actually hadn't expected to hear from her again that first night, and knowing that she was in good hands he was determined not to be overprotective and go overboard with calling. She needed this, and she needed to do it _without_ him. He got that.

And what he needed, just as much, was to be able to let her.

Even if he hadn't had Sweets in his ear telling him at every opportunity for the past few days, he was a proficient enough FBI agent to realize on his own that their partnership - and probably their relationship too, considering Bones' level of independence - couldn't function for long if he didn't get a handle on his urge to constantly act like he was the secret service and she was the POTUS.

Fortunately, there were a few things working in his favor that were helping him relax. He hadn't even had to tell Goodman anything to secure his promise to keep a watchful eye on her in case she suffered a flashback. Cam, God bless her, had already thought of that and had talked to him herself, not revealing excessive detail other than that Dr. Brennan had been kidnapped and put through hell with some lasting effects. In fact, it was Goodman who had brought it up when Booth talked to him, assuring him that his wife was in Philly with him at the same hotel and they'd look out for her.

She was going to be okay, and he was just going to have to trust that. Even if she had a flashback, between Sweets and Gordon-Gordon she knew how to get herself through it. So he _wasn't_ going to pick up the phone and call her again that night. He did, however, hope that _she_ would call _him_ if she had one.

Promising himself he'd wake up in time the next morning to call her before she could leave her room, he called for Thai delivery while he tried not to think about how long the next three days were going to be.

In the end, it didn't take him long to find a hockey game on TV already in the third period, and to get quite happily lost in cheering against the last team that had soundly defeated his beloved Flyers. He suddenly realized that he didn't even remember the last time he'd just sat back and watched a hockey game. The game was in sudden death overtime by the time his food arrived, and by the time his phone rang he was sitting on his bed happily chewing and taunting the goalie as though he could somehow hear him through the screen.

His first reaction to the ringing phone was actually annoyance, thinking that it was going to be work related. He really didn't want to go anywhere, much less a crime scene, especially since he'd been flying solo on those since Bones hadn't been reinstated yet.

But his annoyance disappeared when he glanced at the caller ID and was surprised to see her number. He quickly swallowed a bite of his eggroll and muted the television, wiping his mouth like she could see him.

"Bones? Is that you?" He bit back the automatic _'What's wrong'_ that he had recently realized had become his customary greeting for her.

"Yes, it's me. Were you sleeping?"

He felt his shoulders relax at her obviously normal voice, not even aware he had tensed them.

"Nope. Just sitting here in bed thinking of you," he told her cheerfully, in his patented too-charming-for-his-own-damn-good voice, feeling the urge to flirt with her a little. "How's the really old dead guy?"

And then, feeling just a tiny bit guilty, he edged the TV volume back up _just_ the tiniest bit - it was _overtime_ , after all, and there was a power play - and popped another bite of eggroll in his mouth. Thai, hockey, and Bones calling him just to talk. He'd died and gone to heaven. What could go wrong with that equation?

"He's...dead," she answered his question literally. "Booth, I'm not calling for phone sex."

Thai food, he quickly discovered, did not belong in the lungs. The hockey game disappeared with one press of a button while he was still trying to stop hacking.

And on the conversational front, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know how even Bones could have taken _'how's the dead guy'_ as a come on, but he feared that if he asked she might tell him.

"Bones, I'm not..." he managed to choke out, before another round of furious coughing cut him off.

"Perhaps you should chew your food more carefully," she informed him innocently.

"Me?" he started hoarsely when his airway was finally clear. "Maybe _you_ should at least tell a guy how the weather is before you jump straight to _phone sex_!"

He could almost see her shrug in mild confusion, as though she didn't really understand what he was so worked up about but she was willing to humor him. "I said I _wasn't_ calling to have phone sex. And the weather is cold. It's Philadelphia." She paused for a split second, wheels clearly turning. "How is your weather?"

His eyes closed and he wondered how he'd lost complete control of his relaxing night at home in two sentences. "I'm going to regret asking this. I really am. But what the hell made you think I was about to ask you for phone sex?" He sounded adorably flustered, she thought, wondering where such a strange thought had come from. "You called _me!_ " he finished, his voice cracking embarrassingly on the last word.

Again, he could almost picture her face, her lips turned down in a frown that clearly conveyed that his reaction made no logical sense.

"I know you wouldn't have asked. I just didn't want you to think that was why I was calling you so late at night this time. Because it's not."

He was starting to get a little dizzy from the merry-go-round that talking to Bones could sometimes turn into. The thought of phone sex hadn't even crossed his mind until she brought it up. He'd just wanted to hear her voice. But suddenly it was of great concern to him...specifically, the fact that she suddenly seemed to be against it.

Did she do this stuff on purpose?

 _I'm not going to do it. I'm not taking the bait. Don't do it, Seeley. Don't take the bait._ _Don't do it._ _You'll regret it..._

The self-lecture died in his head as the words tumbled off his tongue like sheep to the slaughter.

"Why don't you want to?"

She seemed to have no problem answering that question. "I never said I didn't want to. I'm just not going to."

Great. He still had no idea what was going on, but now he had the questionably helpful knowledge that she _wanted_ him to make her come over the phone again.

 _See, I told you not to ask. You need to learn to listen._

It was definitely time for another trip to Sweets' office. Bones had finally driven him crazy. Even the voices in his head heard voices.

"Okay, so then why did you feel the need to tell me you aren't _going_ to?" he heard his voice asking in a decent imitation of patience.

Judging by her unconcerned tone when she answered, one might have thought they were having that discussion about the weather that he had mentioned earlier. "I decided last night while you were in the shower that I'm going to refrain from any type of sexual self-gratification between now and our third date in order to enhance the experience."

He supposed he should be thankful that neither the words 'masturbation' nor 'orgasm' had crossed her lips, but it didn't really matter. She'd succeeded in making _him_ think them, which was somehow even more diabolical on her part. Maybe she _did_ do this stuff on purpose.

"Do you...are you- " He had to stop and clear his throat. "Are you asking me to, you know...do the same? Refrain?"

"No," she replied calmly. "Actually, I would prefer that you didn't."

Even the clearly self-destructive part of him could figure out what that one meant without asking, and knew she was probably right. It wouldn't enhance either of their experiences for their first time to be over in 30 seconds, which would be what happened if he spent all week anticipating getting naked with her for the first time without allowing himself any relief at all.

Either way, it was time to change the subject. Past time.

"Right. So Bones...how's the really old dead guy?"

Her rich, throaty laugh betrayed her for a moment, making her standard, predictable Bones answer sound almost like she was making a joke instead of being her normal literal self. "He's still dead, Booth."

The line was silent for a couple moments as his lips turned up in an affectionate, wistful smile.

"I miss you," he told her suddenly, and meant it. All of a sudden, after hearing her laugh, Philadelphia seemed a lot farther away than he remembered. As had happened before, being on the phone instead of right there in front of her seemed to loosen his tongue, and he quickly heard himself making another confession. "I've been trying not to worry about you."

"I'm fine, Booth," she reassured him, understanding his concerns and seeking to allay his fears. "The hotel has excellent security, and Dr. Goodman and his wife are in the room next door. I'll be home in three days."

His eyes slid shut as he sat there in his bed listening to her voice in his ear. The way she'd said that he could almost imagine...

"Home?" he repeated meaningfully, knowing he was sliding headfirst into dangerous territory.

"Washington D.C.," she responded quickly, as though she had understood his question and her first impulse was not to go there. "The Jeffersonian. My friends." He listened to her breathing pattern change, holding his own breath while he waited for her to continue, which she did in a slightly lower voice, almost hesitantly. "My apartment. And your apartment. And...you."

The entire tone of the conversation had just changed, and suddenly there was as much of a current between them over the phone lines as if they'd been face to face. Swallowing, Booth came within a hair's breadth of asking her if they could get rid of 'my' and 'your' and just have an 'our.' He hadn't realized how much he wanted that until she wasn't even in the same city. He hadn't realized that nights away from her were only growing more and more difficult.

More than that, he hadn't fully come to the realization before that home was wherever she was. Even though he'd already known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, somehow this was different - a step farther. And it seemed huge when the reality of it suddenly hit him square in the chest: He was lying in the middle of his own bed, in his own apartment; and he was _homesick._

But somehow he suspected he'd pushed enough for one night. He had a warm, fuzzy feeling that she'd just come to some of the same conclusions as him, mixed with a heart-pounding fear that it probably scared her senseless and he'd better drop it until she was physically in his presence so he could both literally and figuratively make a grab for her if she bolted from the idea. So he took a deep breath and forced himself to change the subject.

"Hey, Bones? Can you do something for me?"

"What?"

"I know you can take care of yourself. But just stay in your room tonight, okay? Just for tonight. Just so I can sleep easy." He hadn't told her to stay put when he talked to her from her room in Albania right before she went out and got herself kidnapped, and he had regretted it ever since. Despite the fact that he knew he really had no right to make such a request...well, this time he was making it anyway.

"I have no intention of leaving. I'm going to work on my book tonight."

"Uh-oh. Don't make Andy do anything I wouldn't do," he joked, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief both that she'd be safe and that the momentary awkwardness had been diffused.

"Why not?"

His lips twitched at the befuddled, oh-so-serious sound in her voice. By this time, he'd completely forgotten all about the hockey game he'd turned off so quickly. "Just an expression, Bones. A joke. And besides," he continued, a tinge of mock sternness coloring his voice as he moved his food boxes out of the way, stretched his legs out and leaned back against his headboard with his free arm crossed casually over his chest. "Andy's me and everybody knows it. I can't have him ruining my reputation."

He could almost hear her roll her eyes. "Andy is not _you_. Andy is...slightly influenced by you."

He grinned, a full scale grin of cocky triumph, because he knew damn well he _was_ Andy. And was she really going to try to pull this after having blatantly _told_ him that the last sex scene she'd written had been straight from a dream of them together, one which she'd been having while _lying in his arms_ on her couch trying to get up the nerve to touch him in his sleep? A scene she still hadn't even let him _read_ yet? And she actually thought he was going to let her get away with that 'Andy is not you' crap? Um, no.

"Oh come on, Bones, it's a little late for that, don't you think?" he teased her, deciding it wouldn't hurt anything to push the envelope with her a little bit. "You've been thinking about me when you write those hot little scenes between Andy and Kathy for a long time now - not just that last one."

"I have not," she told him calmly.

"Oh yes, you have," he retorted gleefully. "That's why it was so easy. You've done it so often you don't even feel guilty about it anymore."

She made a small sound of disapproval. "You're extremely arrogant sometimes." It was the superior tone in that statement even more than the lack of a denial that told him he had her.

"No, I'm extremely _right_ sometimes and you just don't want to admit it."

She sighed heavily. "Fine. Booth?"

"Mmm?" he grinned, victory so close he could taste it.

"I'll concede that I have at times visualized you while writing scenes involving Andy."

She heard his hand hit something in triumph, most likely his jeans-clad leg. "I _knew_ it!"

Something in her voice set off alarm bells that his victory might not be as secure as he thought. "In fact, I will most likely visualize you in the one I'm writing tonight. My publisher requested that I add another interpersonal interaction scene between Andy and Kathy." She paused for dramatic effect, her voice taking a smug tone. "I will attempt to protect your reputation as much as possible."

His eyes narrowed, determination rising up in him. Interpersonal interaction? He was pretty sure he knew what that meant. She wanted him to know or at least believe that she was going to be writing another sex scene that night, starring him. If she wanted to get him going that was fine, but he wasn't going to be the only one going to bed hot and bothered. He was taking her with him. She'd just be the one who'd already committed herself to not doing anything about it.

He dropped his voice to a low, suggestive timbre that he'd already used his excellent observation skills to notice gave her the shivers. He'd also observed that she thought he didn't notice.

Yeah. He'd noticed.

"Or you could just wait a week and draw from personal experience. I know how you love to be accurate, Bones. One more week and you'll know _exactly_ what I'm like in bed."

To his satisfaction, he heard her breathing quicken noticeably, and he smiled a predatory smile as he mentally added 'Talk on the phone to Bones' to his list of things to do more often. It seemed like every non-work-related conversation they had on the phone ended up in the gutter, and he'd already figured out why during the last time: it was still just a much safer place for them both to test their post-Albania limits.

To her credit, she rose to the challenge despite the obvious effect his words had on her. "Unfortunately, that knowledge won't assist me in writing this particular scene. There's no bed involved. Andy is _not_ you, Booth. He most definitely does, as you said, 'things you wouldn't do.'"

She didn't even give him a chance to get a word in edgewise. "I should probably get off the phone. I have a 4:30 A.M. wake up call. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Whoa! Bones..."

Yep, he was taking the bait twice in one call. Didn't even really care.

"What exactly are they doing tonight that you think I'd never do?"

This time when he pictured her face, he knew to picture her with a self-satisfied smirk born of knowing she was about to set him speechless.

"They're going to fulfill Kathy's fantasy of Andy taking her against the glass door of his office."

His eyebrows hit the top of his head and his mouth fell open a little, despite his intention not to let her get to him.

Yeah. Right. Things he'd never do. Because he hadn't gone there every time she stood _near_ the damn thing for the last couple years. Sure. Okay, Bones. Whatever you say.

He chuckled to himself when he heard the line disconnect, knowing that she thought she'd won that round. He knew better. Let her think about it all she wanted. They'd both be thinking about it, but the difference was that he wasn't the one who'd be lying awake half the night hot and bothered.

… ooo … ooo …

He might, he eventually conceded at 3:00 A.M., have been wrong about that.

She had _definitely_ won.

It didn't even really matter anymore whether she'd done it on purpose. She'd given him a hell of a lot to think about - a lot that he needed to _stop_ thinking about and go to sleep, because he was going in to work the next day even though it was Saturday. With all of the time he'd been missing lately, he had more than a few things to catch up on.

He still hadn't forgotten what had happened in her bed that morning, and the topic she'd wanted to start. He'd been drilling it back into his own head all day - even when he was so mad he wasn't speaking to her - that it would be a long time before he'd be anything less than unfailingly gentle with her no matter what the hell she thought she wanted.

But that particular decision contrasted starkly with the little mental image she had given him of Andy/Kathy - or as they were otherwise known in his mind, Booth and Bones - up against the door of his office going at it with her legs wrapped around his waist. There wasn't anything very gentle about against-the-door sex any way you looked at it, which was why he felt a little guilty that he got hard as a rock just thinking about it. It'd been bad enough when she'd addressed the rough-sex topic in generalities. Now she was giving him specifics to stew over.

And then, of course, there was that other little jewel...the fact that he now knew she would be lying in bed for the next week thinking about him, clenching her perfect little thighs because she had decided that the next thing to spread her legs and bring her off would be _him..._ his fingers, his tongue, his cock. It didn't really matter. The operative word in all three was _his_. She was waiting for _him_ to do it. Like some kind of goddamn virgin sacrifice that only he could touch.

What little hope he might have had for a restful night flew right out the window when he really got his mind wrapped around _that_ one.

On top of everything else, he was still so damn worried about her and about the fact that she wasn't where he could protect her that it just amplified the problem. Worry and intense arousal mingling together could lead him to only one slightly mixed-up conclusion: she'd be a hell of a lot safer if he could just get her under him and keep her there where she belonged.

He'd already tried not thinking about any of it. That lasted about five minutes.

He'd tried imagining the slow, sweet, tender scene he fully intended Friday to be. It'd worked, and he'd even fallen asleep...for a little while, until he woke up within an hour right back where he started.

He'd tried getting out of his nice warm bed for a not-so-nice cold shower. Maybe it'd work like shock therapy.

And 15 minutes later, he was right back to trying not to think about the oh-so-tantalizing idea of having her in his office.

With a loud groan, he finally gave in to the urge to just let his mind go wherever the hell it wanted to for one night, and do whatever the hell it wanted to do to her. He had been keeping his fantasy life heavily in check, considering how gentle he knew he'd have to be with her when he actually touched her. Better safe than sorry. But fantasy and reality were far separate, he finally came to the conclusion on this particular night, and he may as well get it out of his system now while she was safely 150 miles away.

He'd just let his mind wander at will. And up against his damned office door was as good a place as any to start.

… ooo … ooo

It had been like opening the floodgates. In the early morning light, he'd awoken from a dream about having her right there on top of his desk. It seemed he had an office theme going.

Work was going to be fun that day, he thought to himself wryly.

He'd given in to it far more quickly this time, half asleep as he was, and had transitioned right from dream into waking fantasy to finish it - this time rationalizing that it might take a few days to get it all worked out of his system and it was probably a good thing he was doing so now, before she got back.

He'd almost felt guilty when he called her right after he got out of the shower. The sweetness of her being the first voice he heard that morning, the domesticity of just asking how she slept and what she'd be doing that day...all of that when she had no freaking clue that in his mind she'd just been bent over the edge of his desk while he pounded into her relentlessly from behind.

Why the hell had she ever had to bring this up?

… ooo … ooo …

Other than the fact that he couldn't bring himself to look at his desk or door without feeling a blush creep up his neck, Booth did pretty well on the first full day she was gone. Of course, since he had to _sit_ at his desk...

But all things considered, he had a pretty good day. Actually, it was a very good day, right up until she called him just as he was getting ready to call it a night and head to the diner for some pie before he went home. The call put him in even better spirits, at first. He had half expected her to be so engrossed in what she had gone there to do that he wouldn't hear from her unless he called her, and maybe not even then.

He should have known that a call from her during what were normal working hours, for her at least, wasn't necessarily a good sign.

"Bones!" he answered cheerfully.

"Before you even ask, Booth...he's still dead."

"Ha!" he answered delightedly. "I wasn't gonna ask about the dead guy."

"You weren't?"

"Nope. I was gonna ask how _you_ are."

There was a slight pause, and then her Bones-telling-a-joke voice came through the line gleefully. " _I..._ am _not_ dead."

Suddenly, he stopped tapping his pencil against the desk in the hyper way he'd been doing.

 _Jesus, Bones..._ was all he could think.

She was trying to be humorous, and he knew it. He could tell she was even smiling when she said it, probably waiting to hear his reaction to her little joke.

But his guts twisted up anyway.

"Booth?" she asked after a moment.

He swallowed hard. "Yeah, Bones, I'm here."

"Is something wrong?"

Well, other than the panic attack that came neatly wrapped up in memories of his last dream about her dying, combined with the realization that if things had gone even a _little_ differently on her last trip she might well _be_ dead...

He cleared his throat. "Nope, I'm good. How's Philly?"

He could almost hear the annoyance in her voice. "Apparently I'm not receiving the authentic Philadelphia experience. Dr. Andrews says that I can't leave without tasting a true Philadelphia cheesesteak. He's extremely persistent about it."

Booth looked up sharply, almost like she was standing in front of his desk. "Dr. Andrews?" he asked, like the name offended him. She, of course, missed it completely.

"Yes. He's one of the archaeologists on Dr. Goodman's team. He lives here in the city, so apparently he's an expert on the subject...cheesesteaks, not archaeology. Well, actually I suppose he's an expert on both. He's undoubtedly the only other competent member of the team aside from Dr. Goodman. And myself, of course."

He knew she wasn't doing anything on purpose. He knew that it would never occur to her to try to make him jealous. He also knew that she was almost certainly completely oblivious to the fact that this 'extremely persistent' guy was probably hitting on her. Not that Booth could blame the bastard if he was; but he had just got this whole possessive thing under control and the very existence of this Dr. Andrews while she was out of town wasn't really helping.

Taking a deep breath, he congratulated himself on getting himself under control before he let on to her that he was feeling a little stab of jealousy. This was _Bones_. He could trust her, and she could beat the hell out of a nerdy little archaeologist. And if she couldn't, he definitely could.

"You're a vegetarian, Bones. Just tell him that." _But if anybody's going to introduce you to a proper cheesesteak, it's going to be me,_ he silently added in his mind.

"Yes, I did," she said with a measure of finality that said that topic had ended. And then she hesitated just long enough for Booth to realize she had something at least slightly major to tell him. "I've been offered a chance to speak at the university here while I'm in town."

Booth's face brightened, a mixture of pride and happiness. "Bones, that's great! Are you going to do it?"

"Yes, I believe so. That is, I would like to, but I thought considering our new status that perhaps I should check with you first to see if you have any strong objections that we should discuss."

His smile faltered a little. _Uh-oh...that's incredible that she thought of that...but uh-oh..._

"Why wouldn't I be okay with it?"

"The lecture is scheduled for late Wednesday afternoon."

He did that math pretty quickly, the last remnants of his smile fading. She had flown out on Friday night, and was supposed to be gone three full days...Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. She was supposed to be back by Tuesday morning, latest.

Crap. Her trip just got longer.

"Do you want to stay?" he asked carefully.

"I feel as though I should. Dr. Andrews is on the academic board, and he pulled ropes to have me added to the schedule."

His jaw clenched. Andrews again. If he hadn't been pretty convinced there was some other guy hitting on his girl before, now he was pretty damn sure. "Strings, Bones. He pulled _strings_. And I'll just bet he did."

Her confused frown came through in her voice. "Yes. He did. I already told you that."

Booth kept his voice even, with some difficulty. "Look, you're not obligated to this guy. Is Goodman leaving Tuesday?" If Goodman wasn't still going to be close by, then yes, Booth was about to have a major objection. He definitely objected to some smarmy doctor trying to move in on his territory and waiting until the coast was clear to do so.

"No, he's speaking as well. In fact, he's speaking next Friday, when Dr. Andrews originally scheduled me. I told him I couldn't stay until Friday, so Dr. Goodman offered to swap. He was scheduled for Wednesday."

That lifted Booth's spirits considerably. "You told Anderson you couldn't do Friday?"

" _Andrews._ And yes, of course. Our date is Friday, so I told him I needed to be home by Wednesday night because I have a prior social engagement."

Suddenly, he was in a much better mood, despite the fact that she would be gone an extra couple days. He visibly relaxed, a satisfied smile on his face. "You'll do great, Bones. You always do. I wish I could hear you."

"Yes," she responded wryly. "My lectures appear to have an extremely relaxing effect on you."

"I don't sleep through your lectures!" he protested, thinking that she was definitely getting better at the humor thing. It made him proud to think he'd rubbed off on her at least a little bit.

"You did in London," she pointed out.

"One time! And that doesn't even count! I was jet lagged."

"No, you weren't. And even if you were, you seemed to recover rather abruptly when Ian asked me to meet with him socially."

Booth scowled, wondering if that was a mild warning that she'd picked up on his jealousy this time too. "I don't speak ill of the dead, so I'll let that one go."

He could hear a male voice in the background, and she was silent for a moment.

Then...

"Oh, Booth, I need to go. Dr. Andrews just received the results from the soil samples recovered with the remains."

He gritted his teeth as the line went dead. It was definitely time to pop in and see Sweets - if for no other reason than to punch him for ever bringing up hypervigilance in the first place. He'd definitely had enough of it.

… ooo … ooo …

Booth was slightly more awake that night when he gave in to the urge to let his mind and by extension his hand wander where it would, probably because he hadn't been able to get her on the phone before going to bed.

He didn't even bother pretending that what was going on in Philadelphia had nothing to do with the fact that suddenly his fantasy of choice for the night involved her spread out almost obscenely all over his bed while he roughly teased her and kept her right on the edge until she repeatedly screamed _his_ name and begged him for _his_ body inside hers, the word 'mine' spilling out between his clenched teeth when he finally surged into her and finished what he'd started. It didn't take long.

He'd looked up Dr. Andrews and checked into him, just to be on the safe side. The guy was harmless, of course, because not even Bones could manage to go 3 for 3 on running into utter psychos. Unmarried, no kids, but not particularly known for being a playboy according to Booth's sources. He was probably just another poor guy taken with the beautiful lady doctor - all 6 feet 2 inches of him, with his symmetrical features, blonde hair, and perfectly straight white teeth that stared back at Booth from the picture he found on the guy's webpage. Not to mention his freaking genius IQ.

A freaking genius IQ and he couldn't figure out that vegetarians don't eat cheesesteaks? And that that particular vegetarian was very, very taken?

… ooo … ooo …

Sunday passed pretty uneventfully. She and Goodman's team had apparently worked straight through the day. Booth had been to Mass, driven out and spent some impromptu time with Parker, and had logged some time in the FBI gym, including a pickup basketball game with some of the other guys who'd showed up to get in a weekend workout.

They set up the video link for their computers and talked for almost an hour before going to sleep Sunday night, just telling each other about their days and drinking in the sight of one another. She had talked for almost 15 minutes nonstop about the work she was doing, and Booth had patiently listened to every word even when he didn't understand a bit of it. She'd listened just as intently to him, and even though she'd totally botched up her attempt to be impressed by his basketball skills when he bragged about how he'd almost single-handedly carried his team to victory, he'd still adored her for the effort and for how cute she was trying.

His dreams that night were much more in line with where he felt like he needed to be...slowly making love to her in her bed all night long, and then holding her while she slept. It had felt so _real_ that when he'd awakened, he could have sworn at first that she was really there.

But on Monday, he got to talk to her even less than he had on Sunday. Between the crime scene he got called out to, the parent-teacher conference that Rebecca had neglected to inform him of until the very last minute, and going out to visit Pops who was feeling a little neglected lately, he didn't really have very much of a chance.

She had been busy too, and they had played phone tag a little bit, never quite able to get the timing right. The only conversation he did have with her during the day had left a bitter taste in his mouth, too.

"Bones! Finally! How are you?"

"I'm fine. We're completing our final reports this afternoon, so I only have a moment."

"Have you been eating?" he asked her suspiciously. "You've got to take time to eat, Bones."

She grew a little more animated at that. "Yes, in fact I wanted to tell you! I finally agreed to a cultural experiment and ate part of a true Philadelphia cheesesteak. I found it extremely unhealthy, but not unpleasant in taste."

"You _what_?" His voice wasn't in any way angry...just filled with disbelief.

"Dr. Andrews convinced me to look at it as scientific observation. He made an extremely logical and convincing argument."

It was at that point that anger began to seep in. One of Booth's hands balled up into a tight fist without his ever realizing it, nor was he consciously aware of the tension in his shoulders. So that was all it took? An extremely logical and convincing argument? He could only hope that rule only applied to food. Her logicking herself right out of a relationship with him was another one of his fears, and it seemed like this trip was going to bring every one of those fears to the forefront.

"Bones, you don't even eat meat," he told her tightly.

"As a general rule, that's correct. However, I am not against sampling local fare as part of scientific observation. When visiting Korea, for example, I sampled sea slugs. While visiting Africa, I partook of roasted termites."

If anything, his voice only grew tighter. "It's Philadelphia, Bones. A couple hours away. Not some third-world country."

Jeez. She wouldn't even eat _pie_ with him, and this guy had her eating cheesesteak? Yeah, it was probably ridiculous, but it bothered him. Had the two of them gone out to some place alone? Even if they had, he still knew it would have meant nothing to her other than a friendly lunch between colleagues. It was Andrews that was really starting to piss him off.

"I would hardly classify either of the areas I'm speaking of as third-world. It's a common misconception that..."

"Where'd you get it from?" he couldn't help asking, not really meaning to cut her off.

"Oh. There's a diner within walking distance. It's very similar to our diner, only with a few different items on the menu."

 _Our_ diner...

This was ridiculous. He wasn't going to conduct an interrogation of his girlfriend over the phone. He wasn't going to conduct one at all. She'd be home in a day and a half, and she was coming home to _him_. So he stopped it right there. He wasn't even going to ask if anyone else went. The last time he'd gone down this road with her, it hadn't ended well. If Bones, Angela and Sweets had all managed to make one point perfectly clear, that was the one.

"Hey, Bones, you wanna let's set the video link up again tonight? I want to see you."

"I can't," she told him somewhat wistfully, but he didn't catch the tone - only the words. "I have dinner plans."

His blood ran a little cold. "Dinner plans?" he managed.

"Yes. Dr. Goodman and his wife are taking the team out for a celebratory dinner, and then having everyone back to their room for a gathering. I will almost certainly not be back in my room until after you're asleep."

He wouldn't count on that, he thought to himself as she once again had to abruptly cut the conversation short.

… ooo … ooo …

In the end, they did talk again that night. She called him when she returned to her room a couple hours earlier than she'd expected, and they agreed to set up the video link. She looked absolutely gorgeous, and he resisted the urge to run his fingers over her face on the computer screen. She seemed relaxed, happy, and more herself than he'd seen her in quite some time.

This trip had been _good_ for her, he realized, just like he'd hoped it would be.

She was going to spend Tuesday sightseeing since her other work was done and she was just staying in town for her lecture on Wednesday, and he came close to suggesting that he drive out and join her. But Cullen would probably kill him if he came up with one more reason for not being at work for a full day, especially if the words 'Dr. Brennan' crossed his lips.

When they started to say their goodbyes, it was her who almost shyly smiled and told him how much she missed him, having no idea what a weight came off his shoulders at those words. He had wondered. He truly had.

He actually went to sleep fairly easily after that, looking forward to her return.

… ooo … ooo …

He had gone to sleep so peacefully that he'd have never expected it.

He had a nightmare that night - the first one he'd had in quite some time. He wasn't even sure it really qualified as a nightmare, because he hadn't even really SEEN anything other than pitch blackness. But then, the terror it'd caused him _had_ to qualify as a nightmare.

It'd been nothing but her voice. Calling him. Begging him to help. Crying out in pain that he couldn't see the cause of but _knew_ was horrible.

And he couldn't find her.

Couldn't. Goddamn. _Find_. Her.

He could see nothing but pitch blackness as he called her name over and over in a panic, trying to follow her voice. She only got farther away.

One gut wrenching cry and then the screams had stopped. The silence had been a thousand times worse. Until _his_ screams started. He had no idea how many times he bellowed her name out before he finally woke himself up, drenched in sweat and his heart racing.

Trying to get himself under control, he closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but nothing stopped the shudders that still wracked his strong frame.

There was really no question in his mind that he was going to call her. He had to know she was safe, and he had to know it _right then_. That wasn't even an issue.

The issue was what the hell he was going to tell her about why he was calling at... fuck, he didn't even have a clue what time it was. Oh, shit. 3:30 in the fucking morning.

It didn't matter. If he didn't hear her voice soon, he'd be on his way to Philadelphia even if he had to hitchhike to get there, and he somehow still retained the presence of mind to know that that wouldn't really be the healthiest thing for either of them.

So he picked up his phone and dialed, cursing his weakness.

… ooo … ooo … ooo

The sound of her phone ringing pulled her from a very pleasant dream that she was fairly certain had involved Booth's mouth on various parts of her anatomy in a quite delightful way. She'd been having a lot of those since she got on her plane. When not working, her thoughts had never been very far from being in Booth's bed after next Friday; well, and his office; and his kitchen; and the elevator in his apartment building...

And considering what she'd been writing about Kathy and Andy doing right before she started trying in vain to go to sleep, she was not very happy about being awoken from such a wonderful dream.

Well, what she had been writing had _kind of_ been about Kathy and Andy. At least, it'd been about them once she made effective use of the search/replace function to take out Booth's name and replace it with Andy's; and, of course, to replace her own name with Kathy's, since Agent Andy had suddenly developed a disturbing propensity to call out 'Temperance' both alone and in conjunction with 'baby' in his most intimate moments with Kathy.

Even her sex-scene loving publisher was probably going to want it toned down a little, but she had been using it as a therapeutic exercise, wondering with an amused smirk if Sweets would approve of that technique...assuming that the 12-year-old ever regained consciousness after reading it, which she would never allow.

In fact, she probably was going to just rewrite something different for her publisher and keep that one for herself. Perhaps she'd let Booth read it; he hadn't seemed eager to discuss the topic of passionate, uninhibited relations, but she was so much more eloquent on paper...

But as much as she'd like to keep thinking about that, her phone was still ringing.

3:30 in the morning? A jolt of worry actually crossed through her at that realization, especially when she saw Booth's number.

Suddenly wide awake, she quickly hit the button and pressed the phone to her ear. "Booth?"

A heavy exhalation hit her ears, but she had no idea that his shoulders had just slumped forward in relief as every ounce of the air in his lungs swiftly escaped.

He'd called her, panicked he'd get only her voicemail over and over like when she'd gone missing in Albania.

But this time she'd been there, safe and sound.

… ooo … ooo …

"Booth? Are you there?"

She received no answer for so long that she became concerned.

"Booth? Are you all right?"

A shuddery breath in her ear gave way to a more normal sounding sigh, followed by a strained voice she barely recognized.

"Yeah. I am now. I'm sorry, Bones, I shouldn't have called you. Go back to sleep, okay?"

"That's...not likely. What's wrong, Booth?"

He really just wanted to get her off the phone so he could be embarrassed in peace.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

There was a pause and then she surprised him. "You had a nightmare."

He swallowed, hard. Damnit, it was his place to comfort _her_ , not the other way around. "Yeah," he told her, still breathing heavily in her ear.

Her voice was soothing. "It wasn't real, Booth. It's not like last time. I'm fine. I'm safe. I promise."

If anything, he felt even more embarrassed. "I know. I know." Clearing his throat, he tried desperately to talk about anything else, with questionable results. "I never asked you about your room, Bones. You still sleeping okay? Good bed?"

 _Good_ _bed_ _? Shit._ If he could turn back time, he wouldn't dial that number.

A slight flicker of amusement colored her voice after a long pause, heavily tempered with concern.

"I thought I made it clear that I don't wish to engage in phone sex this week."

She had achieved the impossible with her little well-timed joke, as a bark of laughter pushed its way from his throat and went a long way toward settling him down.

His voice still sounded shaky as he replied, but far more normal. "That's great, Bones. I knew there was some reason I loved you. Make fun of the guy with the nightmares."

She gave a small chuckle as well, but quickly fell into a patiently concerned silence while he tried to figure out how to get himself out of this without any further embarrassment.

"Booth?" she finally asked him seriously. "Are you sure you're okay? I could come home..." she trailed off.

His eyes clenched shut, his fingers gripping the phone for control as his mind screamed one answer. _Yes...right now. Right fuckin' now, and I swear to God I won't make you wait until Friday. I won't make you wait until we get out of the goddamn airport..._

"No, Bones...stay. Sign some autographs for the grad students, give 'em a thrill. Knock 'em dead."

… ooo … ooo …

She lay awake for the final two hours of the night after he hastily ended the call, deep in thought. At first, she had thought it was weakness that had her so desperately missing Booth, both during the day and most especially at night when she crawled into her bed. As she worked in the unfamiliar university lab, she had deeply felt the fact that Booth wouldn't be wandering in to make inane comments and drag her off to the diner. At what point had he become such a huge part of her workday? She couldn't even remember anymore.

And at night, although she was fairly certain that she wiggled away from him most nights and ended up sprawled out far from him - at least until he inevitably pulled her back - she had apparently become quite accustomed to going to sleep with his strong arm tucked around her midsection, both protectively and possessively. How had he become so vital to her sleep in so short a time?

She probably wasn't going to tell him, but she had given up on her promise the first night to refrain from any form of sexual gratification. He had ensured that when he so gruffly reminded her that in one week's time she would know what he was like in bed, and then had failed to be there to touch her in any way after making a statement like that with that...voice. She had wanted to know _immediately_ what he was like in bed, and had done what she hoped would turn out to be a fairly effective job of imagining it down to the last detail just as soon as they got off the phone.

It had touched something deep within her, as well, when she realized that Booth was jealous of Dr. Andrews. The thought had never occurred to her that he might be, and she hadn't intentionally done anything to further it.

But despite what she may have said loud and long to anyone who would listen about it being territorial, eye-rollingly-juvenile Alpha-Male behavior, she suspected Angela might have used the phrase 'pretty damn hot' to describe just exactly how it had affected her when she figured it out. Not even once did she bring up Andrews on purpose. She wouldn't do that to him.

But something in the tone of his voice every time the topic of Andrews came up had left her fantasizing that night about Booth staking his claim and marking her intimately with his lips and teeth, the fantasy making her wetter than anything short of Booth's hands on her had done in quite some time.

She'd suffered her own nightmare the night before his, on Sunday night after their first video session. She'd missed him terribly when they'd disconnected, and had half considered calling him back and asking him to stay on the phone with her until she fell asleep. She'd dismissed the idea as unbelievably weak and needy. But at some point during the night, she'd awakened gasping for air and clawing at the sheets, barely remembering what had been after her but knowing that it was Booth she'd been running toward for safety and she just couldn't get to him.

It was the only reason she'd picked up on his nightmare so quickly. Hers had still been so fresh in her memory, and the fact that he'd called her at 3:30 in the morning after barely calling her all weekend confirmed it. If she hadn't been 100%, undeniably sure that Booth would have been headed her way before she could even blink, she would have called him when she had her nightmare like he had called her when he had his. She didn't tell him about it by the light of day for the same reason. He'd have done nothing but worry.

But now she was worried about him. She only had two more days and one more night. She'd be home late Wednesday evening.

Suddenly, it wasn't soon enough.

Not really caring about the consequences, she jumped out of bed at daylight and threw on the first clothes she could find. Andrews was staying in the next room over despite living in the area, at Goodman's insistence that everyone would have the nicest accommodations during the grueling weekend and be in close proximity for meetings if need be. So he was accessible. And he was either going to reschedule her to that day or she was canceling. She wanted to go home - a word that suddenly held new meaning for her. And a seed of an idea was beginning to germinate in her mind about exactly how she wanted to go about it. She did, after all, have a key to Booth's apartment that he had given her at some far distant point in the past when he'd been going out of town, and he had never requested it back.

… ooo … ooo …

Most people would have realized it was 6:30 in the morning and they probably shouldn't be beating on another scientist's door on the day after completion of a grueling project. Most other scientists would have gotten mad that she was doing so. But Dr. Andrews had already learned enough about Temperance Brennan in three days to learn two things: one, she was absolutely unbelievable in a mindblowing kind of way, and this was just so _her_ that you just kind of had to go with it; and two, she was very, very taken. Damn it.

So he pulled his robe around himself tightly, rubbed sleep out of his eyes, and agreed to pull some more 'ropes' to let her lecture in a class that afternoon, Tuesday, instead of a Wednesday one. Most of the grad students wouldn't care. They'd skip whatever they had to in order to be there whenever Temperance Brennan was going to speak. He'd only originally scheduled her for Friday and then reluctantly swapped it to Wednesday because he hadn't seen a ring and he'd hoped to get to know her a little better when their work was done; but that was before he realized that ring or no ring, everything in her world was colored by this unbelievably lucky bastard named Booth, whose name he had heard a lot of over the last few days. What the hell kind of name was Booth, anyway, and who called a woman that looked like _that_ 'Bones?' He smiled at the thought as he closed the door on the retreating Hurricane Temperance. Another of life's mysteries he'd never figure out.

… ooo … ooo …

She carefully avoided her phone all day Tuesday other than one brief call she answered when Booth called her on his lunch break. He'd expected her to be sightseeing that day, so he wasn't surprised to hear her say she was shopping, which was in fact the truth. It really gave nothing away.

She didn't speak to him again until just before she was preparing to go through security for her 10:00 P.M. flight back to D.C. that night, a full day early. She knew Booth wouldn't actually go to bed if he didn't hear from her and know she was okay, but she wanted to keep it as short as possible to avoid having to lie to him in any way. She'd booked a late evening flight intentionally, but rather than sightseeing she'd spent the rest of her day shopping after her lecture at the university. In fact, she was wearing one of her purchases beneath her comfortable jeans and t-shirt. Angela would be so proud... and she hadn't even been all that bothered by putting it on.

She called him from the airport bathroom, hoping he wouldn't hear anything that would tip him off she was at the airport.

… ooo … ooo …

Booth wasn't really sure _what_ to make of her phone call Tuesday night before bedtime, other than that she sure as hell wasn't in her hotel room. Not unless she was throwing one hell of a party, which at this point he'd almost believe because it made more sense than anything else he could come up with to explain her behavior.

It wasn't like he'd called her very much during her trip. He hadn't. He'd let _both_ of them have some space. She had actually called him just as much if not more than he had called her, which made him kind of glad he _hadn't_ gone overboard. If he had, he'd have missed out on finding out that she wanted to keep a connection between them too.

Or, at least, she _had_ for the rest of her trip so far. But not on Tuesday, apparently.

After barely being able to get her on the phone at _all_ the whole day other than to be quickly dismissed because she was shopping, and then hearing her voicemail one too many times afterward, by the time she finally called him he was just so glad to know she was okay that he almost didn't _care_ what she was doing - _almost._ He'd been getting worried, especially since it was just her sightseeing day. She wasn't busy, at least not with work. So why didn't she want to talk to him? And he was pretty sure this time that he wasn't just being paranoid. She was avoiding him.

Now if he could just figure out if it was their upcoming date (which he doubted), or if she had picked up on his jealousy with Andrews and was pissed off at him for being a territorial Alpha male instead of trusting her (probably), or if he'd freaked her out the night before by calling her at 3:30 to hold his hand because he had a little nightmare. He was leaning heavily toward the latter, with a heavy dose of self-disgust.

He didn't really get to find out which if any of those three it was, either. Before he could even ask her what was going on, she told him to sleep well (yeah right), volunteered the fact that she loved him (huh?), and then rushed him off the phone so fast he couldn't even get a read on her. When he finally stopped staring at the dead phone in his hand a minute or so later and regained the presence of mind to redial her, he went straight to voice mail. Again.

He'd talked to her for a combined total of less than five minutes the whole day.

If he hadn't been so exhausted, considering he'd been up since 3:30, he might have made a different decision about what to do. But he hadn't really slept very well any of the nights she was gone, and he was about to fall asleep on his feet; so rubbing a frustrated hand through his hair, he decided to go to bed and try again the next day. He did try calling a couple more times before actually turning the lights out, but his calls still went straight to voice mail. The second time he called he actually left her one, but he was starting to get the idea; he wasn't really naive enough to think she'd actually call him back. If she wanted to talk to him right then, she'd be answering her damn phone.

He turned on his TV and stared at it without really knowing what he was watching while he tried to figure her out.

If it hadn't been for that 'I love you,' he'd be halfway to Philly by that point.

As it was, he had no freaking clue what to do or what was going through her mind.

What he did have was a headache that pounded his temples to the point of throbbing. Which was why he downed a good-sized dose of over-the-counter nighttime headache caplets, fully aware of just how loopy they'd knock him and that he'd get at least one good night of hard, dreamless rest. He might not know where he was when he woke up, but at least he'd sleep.

Sleep eventually came and claimed him and claimed him hard, despite the uneasiness that had crept in. At least he knew that physically she was okay. He could only hope they would sort the rest out when she got back.

… ooo … ooo …

She stared at the phone in her hand for a moment after disconnecting, before quickly turning it off.

Surprising a trained FBI agent and former Army Ranger sniper was not turning out to be as easy in practice as it had seemed in theory. She had thought she was extremely subtle and nonchalant in her avoidance of him throughout the day. But as she called him from the airport bathroom in the hopes of avoiding any noise that might tip him off she was at the airport, Booth had radiated suspicion so heavily that she could feel it right through the phone line.

So she had done the most casual, cool, collected thing she could think of: she'd quickly instructed him to sleep (because if he didn't, her plan would never work), blindsided him with an unprovoked 'I love you' (so maybe he'd stop worrying), and hung up on him so fast that she could practically picture his completely befuddled expression.

Perhaps, she conceded, that last part had not met the casual, cool, collected standard she had been endeavoring to achieve.

Unlocking and stepping out of the stall she'd gone into, as she left the restroom she didn't restrain the urge to glare at the unnecessarily noisy group of teenage girls who had chosen the very moment Booth answered the phone to rush into the bathroom and engage in boisterous gossip and laughter. They, of course, never noticed her.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Not soon enough but all too soon, Brennan was back in D.C., stepping out of a cab in front of Booth's apartment building. Pulling her bag behind her, she looked up at all of the darkened windows and wondered why she'd never before made note of which was his. It hardly mattered. Almost the entire building was dark, including Booth's floor. She was a little too impatient at the moment for standing there counting out windows.

Less than three minutes later, she was standing outside his apartment. Inexplicably, her hand was shaking as she found the practically new key and lifted it to the lock. She tried to tell herself it was because part of her was a little worried Booth might mistake her for an intruder and shoot her. But that wasn't true and she knew it. Booth could be trusted to identify his target before firing, and no one knew that better than her. He wouldn't shoot her.

He might be tempted to strangle her later though, she thought wryly, when he realized she'd been riding around D.C. alone in a cab at 1:00 in the morning with nothing but a t-shirt and jeans covering the lacy little black babydoll she'd picked out in the store earlier. Rationally, it put her in no more danger. No one could see it, and if they did see it then logically that could only mean she was _already_ in serious trouble. But she had a suspicion that Booth might hyperventilate if he knew.

The fact that that thought and accompanying mental image made her bite her lip to hold back a giggle was a sure sign that she was extremely nervous.

Perhaps she wouldn't be so nervous if she knew exactly what she expected from this.

Initially, the plan had been simply to surprise him and make sure that he didn't have any more nightmares.

Then, she had decided it might be nice to wake him up.

And _then_ she had remembered Booth telling her he slept naked, her hormones had swiftly become involved in the planning process, and soon she was planning a full-scale seduction.

That had led her early that morning to the lingerie store in the closest mall, where _she_ had been the one to almost hyperventilate. She almost had a flashback standing in the storefront looking at the first mannequin, which had been dressed in a gauzy white robe and panty/bra set meant for brides. It was disturbingly similar to what she'd been forced to wear in Albania, and she had very nearly lost her breakfast.

Sweets' advice had served her well, to her never-ending disbelief, and she had grounded herself enough to be able to back out the door and go find a nearby coffee shop.

It was while she was sitting in that coffee shop regathering her nerve that Booth called her and she told him she was shopping. Just hearing his voice had made her feel a little guilty. He had been so excited about making their first time special and unique. She almost backed out of the whole plan, canceled on the university, and stormed the airport right then and there to just go home and _hug_ him.

Eventually, as she sipped her coffee, she decided on a compromise. She would march right back into that store - because fear was _not_ going to rule Temperance Brennan - and she would buy something a little less blatant than the next-to-nothing teddy or g-string she'd originally intended to purchase.

And then she'd just fly home, slip into bed with Booth - a _naked_ Booth - and let him decide.

So she had done exactly that. She'd walked back into that store without flinching - though she had carefully kept her eyes averted from the mannequin that had assaulted her the first time - and she had begun looking through the racks.

She only tried on one thing, and she knew she was taking it before she ever opened a fitting room. It was exactly what she needed. The black babydoll, made almost entirely of lace, was see-through if you looked at it hard enough, and showcased her cleavage while hugging the curves of her waist and hips. But it also fell to mid-thigh and covered just enough that it could easily pass as a nightgown - a very, very sexy nightgown with tiny little spaghetti straps, but a nightgown nonetheless. And it couldn't have been more unlike what Booth had found her wearing in Albania.

As she stood in his darkened living room and slid her feet out of her shoes, she quickly pulled the hem loose from where she'd tucked it into her jeans. Her jeans and t-shirt quickly disappeared, and she folded and then nervously refolded them before lying them neatly across the arm of his couch. Her heart beat so loudly that she was certain he must be able to hear it from his bedroom.

Almost silently, she turned on the hall light so she'd be able to see where she was going and padded barefoot down the hall and into the barely open door of his room, her breath catching in her throat as she saw him. The sheet and blanket were pulled up to his waist, and he lay on his side with his back to her, the sliver of light from the hallway casting part of him in shadow while the muscles of his back were lit and revealed to her. Her eyes traveled across bare, well muscled shoulders and the chiseled expanse of his back. Next, her eyes lit on a thick, muscular bicep and tanned forearm, which if all went according to plan would be banded around her within seconds, possibly with her lying beneath him.

Her breathing sped up to an even more rapid pace, increasing the dampness that already existed between her legs. While the outfit she'd chosen might have been ambiguous enough that it didn't necessarily indicate an intention to engage in sexual intercourse that night, the same could not be said of her decision not to wear panties beneath it. Perhaps that answered the question of exactly what she hoped to gain from this.

Slowly, she approached, a little nervous that he'd startle awake at any moment. It was _Booth_. He wouldn't hurt her, for the same reasons that he wouldn't shoot her, but she knew it was going to make her jump if he suddenly woke up on the defensive. And she further knew that if she flinched and he saw it, the rest of her plans were….not exactly likely. Licking her lips, she carefully pulled the covers down enough to climb in behind him, her thigh brushing against smooth skin at hip level as she did so and confirming that he had been telling the truth: Booth did indeed sleep in the nude.

When she was fully in, she carefully brought one hand to his shoulder, watching him closely, and began to softly caress. Inching closer, she pressed her midsection against his back as she brought her lips to his shoulder and began to gently kiss her way across his shoulder blades, waiting for him to wake up.

This was certainly not the first seduction she'd ever staged, and she certainly had no doubts that the man in question wanted her. Why was she so irrationally nervous?

He began to stir slightly, so she pulled back and rose up to her knees in anticipation of his turning over and finding her, a smile playing at her lips as she imagined his face when he saw her. Rather than doing so, however, he rolled slightly toward her onto his back, pushing her a little closer to the edge of the bed. He was still sound asleep. He must have been exhausted; she hadn't seen him sleep so hard since that night on her couch right after Albania.

Perhaps he required more stimulation...

Resisting the urge to pull the covers back and straddle his thighs, she stayed in her kneeling position beside him, bending to bring her lips to his collarbone, feeling his chin move against the top of her head and knowing her hair was probably tickling him. She smiled wickedly against his chest and gave him a tiny nip, thinking that would be what woke him up but slightly disappointed to realize he remained quiet.

More slowly than she thought she had patience for, she very methodically but in a random pattern placed barely-there kisses against his chest, moving across his sternum and paying slightly more attention to his nipples before beginning to move down his abdomen.

Moving her body a little farther down beside him, her lips moved still lower, getting very, very close to the top of the covers. Her fingers quickly remedied that problem, pulling it down just slightly more, running her lips along the skin near his belly button before dipping her tongue into it.

His stomach muscles tensed beneath her lips, hard, at the same moment that she heard a tightly controlled but very sharp inhalation. Startled, she rose up to see very sleepy dark eyes staring at her, his expression unreadable - making her wonder how long he'd been partially awake just watching her.

Suddenly, she knew exactly what she'd been expecting.

It was _Booth._ She'd expected him to call her name in joyful surprise, pull her into his arms and drive her crazy with hard hugs and soft lips, all while stubbornly refusing to be seduced and scolding her for not calling him to pick her up at the airport. Then he'd probably make her put on some clothes.

But he didn't even say her name. He just appeared to be studying her with heavy lidded eyes, and she watched as his eyes were drawn to her body as she rose up, traveling hotly down the outfit she had picked out just for him, and then raking back over her up to her face.

The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips, preparing to speak to him, his completely unexpected reaction unnerving her a little bit.

He hadn't even called out her name, or asked what she was doing there. Hadn't even smiled.

And then suddenly, his arms shot out and grabbed her torso just beneath her armpits, hauling her up his body until she was stretched atop him and her lips met his. She gasped in surprise once, and then did so again when, no sooner than she landed on his chest, he flipped them over and put her solidly beneath him.

… ooo … ooo …

Each one of his dreams throughout that week had seemed real, each more real than the last. The final one, Sunday night, had been so real that he had been surprised not to find her in his bed Monday morning. He'd been able to feel her, taste her...how was it even possible that she wasn't real?

But on this night, as he became aware of a stinging sensation on his chest followed by the unbelievably sweet feel of lips he already recognized soothing it, Booth opened his eyes to the best dream yet.

Maybe he should take those nighttime headache pills more frequently.

He hadn't had this dream before. He only saw the top of her head and the straps of something that looked like lace on her shoulders as she bent over him, but there was no doubting who it was.

And this dream was the most real yet.

Damnit, he could even _smell_ her. Sweet torture.

He held incredibly still, watching her, barely awake and still trying to decide if this was dream or reality. God, he wanted it to be reality.

But reality, he remembered foggily around the medicine still trying to suck him back under despite the unbelievably enticing attention-keeper in front of him, was that Bones was in Philadelphia not speaking to him or taking his calls.

Reality was that she was scheduled to speak at the university the next day, and she would never break that commitment.

Reality was that he couldn't let himself believe this was anything other than a dream, because it hurt like hell waking up the way he had done the morning before and realizing that he'd made love to a vision all night.

Reality was that this was too damn good to be true.

But it sure as hell felt like reality when her hot little fingers pulled down a little more on the only barrier between her and his rapidly awakening erection, and her lips dropped even lower. He nearly came off the bed when her tongue dipped into his belly button.

Of course, it'd felt like reality the night before too, when her mouth had gone even lower...

He had been holding perfectly still, he realized, too afraid that if he moved even slightly either he would wake up or she would disappear.

Only he didn't wake up. And she was still there.

But his vision of Brennan definitely noticed the reaction he had no longer been able to control to her sweet ministrations. She looked up at him with smoldering eyes, everything about her telling him that if he didn't act quickly her next move would be to divest him of the rest of the covers and take him in her mouth. Even if that hadn't done him in, what he saw when she rose up would have finished the job.

Enough light was spilling into his bedroom - more proof that this was a dream, because he always slept in pitch blackness - for him to see that she was covered in a little bit of black lace and nothing else. He almost flinched. He hadn't been able to go the lingerie route again yet even in fantasy; she'd either been naked or he'd undressed her from fully clothed each time.

But when he saw her in lingerie that could only have one purpose, wearing it voluntarily and wearing it for _him_ , he got even harder.

Even though she was only a dream. Even though this wasn't reality, because no way in hell was real Bones ready to put on something like that.

True reality, when all was said and done, was that this was the last night before she came home, and this was his last night for this type of dream and for getting the rest of those less-than-gentle urges she'd awoken in him out of his damn system.

His last thought, as unrelenting hands snapped down to pull his vision up to his lips and get her under him, was...

' _Please don't let me wake up.'_

… ooo … ooo …

It happened so fast she could barely take a breath. One second she was beside him bending over him; the next she was landing hard on the mattress flat on her back, with Booth's hands still gripping her torso just above her breasts and holding her in place, one of his legs immediately pushing between her thighs and driving her legs apart as his lips came down on hers in a near-consuming kiss.

She gasped in surprise, that gasp turning into a moan as his thigh came firmly into contact with her bare sex, rocking it against her insistently. He swallowed that moan in his mouth as his lips continued to move over hers, his tongue driving with abandon into her mouth as he rocked his thigh into her again, spurred on by the wetness he felt against his leg and the very welcome knowledge that his vision wasn't wearing any panties. His hands reached down and roughly pulled up the little lace babydoll she wore, bunching it up just below her breasts before moving up to palm her nipples right through the lace that still covered them, the texture and friction making her cry out in pleasure.

As she quickly recovered from her initial surprise, Booth's aggressiveness fueled the fire in Brennan. This was what she'd been dreaming of all week. _More._ She wanted _God yes_ more. Sliding her arms under his, she wrapped them around his back, pulling him even closer and digging her fingernails into his back near brutally as she returned his kiss just as forcefully, her own tongue becoming caught up in the fierce battle. Never before had it been so freeing to just _let go..._

As she did so, she arched her back and pushed her breasts up more tightly into his hungry hands. He obliged her, yanking the lace the rest of the way up to fully expose her, his fingers surprisingly gentle despite the hard urgency of the rest of his body as he rolled and lightly squeezed the pebbled peaks between his thumbs and forefingers. Hard lips, gentle fingers...driving her mad.

Wanting to return the favor, her arms retreated from around his back, one of her hands going to grip his wrist and keep his fingers on her breast _just like that_ as the other inserted itself between them and began to travel lower, taking a teasing, slow path down his abdomen, intent on going all the way down and grasping him in her fingers.

That move from her drew out a sound from low in his throat, somewhere between growl and groan. Her reaction to that primal sound was instantaneous, as the sweet ache between her legs intensified and she tried to get even closer to the thigh that intimately held hers open. His hands released her breasts instantly and shook off her grip on his wrist, before capturing both of her hands and pulling her questing fingers away before she could get a hold of him. Locking fingers with her tightly, he pushed her arms down and pressed the backs of her hands into the mattress as he planted their clasped hands on either side of her head.

She continued to writhe against his leg, moaning helplessly as she tried to force more stimulation to replace what he had just denied her; in response, he shifted his body, wasting no time in authoritatively pushing his other leg between hers, fully spreading her thighs wide and dropping him into the natural cradle of her hips. She held tightly to his anchoring hands as she felt his extremely impressive erection begin to slide along the outside of her most intimate area, drawing a whimper of need and mild alarm from her.

"Mmm...Booth, please..." She wasn't even sure if she was pleading with him to stop, or never to stop.

She didn't want to feel the uneasiness that was beginning to creep in. Her body and mind were in complete disagreement, her legs already raising up to try to use her heels against his ass to urge him into her even as her mind told her that something was wrong.

She'd had certain expectations how the first time was going to be, and it wasn't anything like this. No matter how much she wanted this.

She didn't want to feel the beginnings of fear, but everything was happening so fast. _Damnit_. She _wanted_ fast. She wanted hard. She wanted passionate and uninhibited, _just like this._ It was what she'd always preferred, and she hadn't expected Booth to be so unbelievably _good_ at it.

But despite herself, her hands suddenly pushed back against his as her squirming beneath him became less driven by pleasure and more by alarm, fighting down the panicky trapped feeling that came when his hips only seemed to pin her down more tightly. His hands gripping her fingers were actually gentle, but at some point they'd gone from being a steady anchoring point to something that also trapped her. She continued to kiss him with determination, frustrated tears rising behind her eyelids. She was not going to give in to this. She was still soaked with her own arousal, still feeling the empty ache that she no longer doubted only Booth could fill.

Half of her still wanted this. It was Booth. He'd never hurt her.

Knowing that, she believed she could get past the other half.

But in the moment that he began moving to position himself at her entrance, she whimpered in sudden dismay, her legs reflexively trying to close only to come up against the solid resistance of his hips between them, holding them open.

When his lips almost simultaneously landed on her throat as she felt him prepare to enter her, anxiety rose to a sudden fever pitch and the panicked words she had promised herself never to say again shot out of her mouth before she could stop them, her voice breathless as her entire body clenched up in a terrified effort to push him off before he could penetrate her.

"Booth! _Stop_!"

… ooo … ooo …

It all happened so fast.

From the time his half-awake, sleep-addled, medicine-fogged mind screamed to please not let him wake up, until the moment that everything crashed down on him, it had probably been less than a minute. He'd been so intent on finishing the dream before he could wake up...

He'd even _prayed_ not to wake up, despite how unbelievably inappropriate that obviously was.

But suddenly all he wanted - desperately - _was_ to wake up. He so desperately wanted this to be a nightmare, but just as suddenly he knew it wasn't going to be.

This was heart-stoppingly, mind-numbingly real.

Even though it _couldn't_ be.

She was in Philadelphia.

She _had_ to be in Philadelphia.

God, she was still in Philadelphia, wasn't she?

 _Please, let this be a nightmare. Please let me wake up._

Although the forward movement of his lower body stopped immediately before he ever penetrated her, it actually took a shocked second or two before he let her go, panicked eyes flying to her face in painful realization as his rapid breathing completely ceased and his suddenly wide-open eyes blinked once. In that one moment he was completely frozen.

And then he released her hands and pushed himself off of her to her side as fast as he could, his breathing resuming at a rapid, shallow pace as he watched her in open-mouthed horror. She sat up instantly when he was off of her, pulling the bunched up lingerie back down to cover herself as she did so. His eyes never left her face as he knelt in painful realization beside her.

"Bones?" he breathed, not daring to touch her, his voice filled with horrified awe as he knelt beside her, never in his life having less of an idea what to do next. "Oh my God...you're real?" The question sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, but he felt as though his very life depended on the answer.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her breaths shallow and hard, and if he had dared lay a finger on her he'd have pulled her hands away from her face when she suddenly used them to cover it. He _needed_ to see her face.

He barely heard her through her hands. "Booth...God, Booth, I'm so sorry. I'm..."

His head was shaking slightly back and forth in utter pained disbelief though she couldn't see him. _She_ was sorry _?_ For what, exactly? Because if it was for anything other than ever trusting him in the first place, he didn't want to hear it.

 _What the hell was she even doing there?_

He was hovering as close to her as he could, needing to comfort her but afraid to touch her. Twice his hands came up instinctively, once to her hands with the renewed urge to pull them away from her face, and once to her shoulders wanting to hold her. But he pulled back in frustration just in the nick of time, both times, as he realized anew that he _better not goddamn touch her_ _right then._ But he still couldn't let her keep apologizing to _him._

"No! Bones, don't…I thought you were a dream. I...Temperance…" His voice was pleading, begging her to understand, but she just continued that horrible shaky breathing that ripped him apart each time her bare, lace-strap covered shoulders rose and fell and he could hear the shudder in her breath.

And she still hadn't pulled her hands away from her face, and he couldn't _take_ it anymore, and _damn it all to hell, what was he still doing in bed with her?_

"Jesus. I'm gonna go, okay? I'll let you get dressed. I...God, I'm sorry."

Jumping up from the bed, he fled the room, thankful for the first time that her face was still buried in her hands. He didn't even stop for clothes.

… ooo … ooo

As her breathing slowed and the initial panic, humiliation and self-frustration subsided, her first initial impulse was to jump up and follow him. The look on his face...she hadn't even been able to bear the look on his face when she peeked through her fingers. What had she _done_?

She jumped when she heard the loud bang from somewhere outside his bedroom, thinking for one horrible second that he'd left the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

 _Left her. Just like he'd wanted to do in Albania..._

Finally uncovering her face, she looked up sharply and was silent, not even breathing. Heart pounding, every muscle in her body tensed until she heard him moving around and realized it had been the laundry room door slamming shut. He must have just retrieved himself something from the laundry to wear. She'd almost completely forgotten he was still naked.

The realization that he hadn't left spurred her into action. This was her fault. She needed to fix it. But she was still fairly certain that she didn't need to try to fix it in her current state of dress. Fingers shaking, she turned on the light and opened drawers until she found a pair of his shorts, absently noting they were a pair he'd loaned her before. Sliding them on, she resisted the tears pricking at her eyes and blurring her vision as she frantically looked for a t-shirt. Finding one, she slid it on over her head. But her steps just wouldn't take her out the door. Sinking back onto the bed, several long moments passed before she felt calm enough to go find him.

What if she had just destroyed everything?

… ooo … ooo

For the second time that night, her first glimpse of him was his bare, well muscled back. He stood in the kitchen wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his back to her as he stood in front of the coffeepot staring at it as though he'd make coffee if he could just get up the willpower. His arms were braced wide on the counter, his back ramrod straight. He looked tense enough to shatter if she touched him. His head turned just slightly as she stepped out of the hallway, and she knew he was aware of her presence.

She was almost as relieved to see him as she had been any of the times he had pulled her out of death's grip and right into his waiting arms, to hold her together while she shook.

But she knew without a doubt that he wouldn't touch her this time, no matter how badly either of them might need comfort. This time she was going to have to be the one to save him - to fix this.

Slowly, slowly she approached him, coming to stand right behind him. His head dropped a little lower with a tiny, tortured sigh, but he didn't move otherwise. He didn't tell her that what he'd really expected was her to walk right out his front door, but all of a sudden her approaching him was even worse.

"Bones, don't..." he begged.

Tentatively reaching out, she placed her fingertips gently on his back, first one hand and then the other, eyes glued to the back of his head. If possible, he tensed even more under her gentle touch, and she could feel the muscles rippling beneath her fingers, could see how tight his jaw was. Daring to step a little closer, she put her lips against his back, both hearing and feeling his ultra-shallow breaths as she pressed one kiss and then another right in the middle of his back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with her lips still against his skin, pressing still closer and hesitantly wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. "I wanted to surprise you. It's okay. It was my fault, not yours." She was somehow embracing him but barely touching him. "I'm not afraid of you. I'm _not_."

With even more hesitancy than she had shown, one of his hands rose from the countertop to hover above and then gently brush against her hands at his stomach, as though he was testing the waters. In reaction, her embrace tightened and her cheek rested in relief against his back as she suddenly held on to him like he was a life raft and she was drowning.

"I'm sorry, Booth. _I'm sorry,"_ she whispered fiercely, eyes closing, fingers moving to grip the hand he'd offered and hold onto it tightly. When he felt wetness against his back from the tears that had finally escaped her lashes, he straightened fully and brought his other hand off the counter to rest reassuringly over hers.

"Shh, Bones," he told her, his voice strained, still afraid to move or touch anything but her hands where she held him. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one that's sorry. God." His fingers squeezed hers involuntarily as the memory hit him all over again. "Shit. Bones, you have no idea how sorry I am."

Her arms tightened around his waist, her cheek pressing more firmly against the back of his shoulder. "It's okay. It's okay. You just surprised me. I wanted...Booth, I wanted to. I _wanted_ that. I just..."

"I know. I know." She thought he was going to cut the conversation off at that, but after a moment he surprised her. "That's what I was just standing here thinking about," he confessed, his voice raspy. A harsh, intense sound that might have passed for a single clap of bitter laughter escaped his throat, but there was no mirth in it. "I know you were right there with me up until the last second. I know that. If I didn't, I think I'd be tempted to swallow my own gun."

A strangled sound came out of Brennan, and then she was letting go only long enough to pull an unresisting Booth around to face her. His arms dropped back behind him to grip the counter rather than touching her, as her hands smacked hard into his chest in angry frustration. "No! You can't say things like that, Booth! You have a son, you would never…"

And that was when something in him finally broke. Ever since their return, he had hidden from her as much as possible the effect that their ordeal had had on him. He'd withstood her advances without letting her see that as much as it hurt to turn her down, he was even more scared of _not_ turning her down; he had hid the bulk of his nightmares from her and refused to turn to her for comfort because he felt like it should be him comforting her; felt like he didn't deserve comfort anyway. He had completely denied his own pain.

"Wouldn't I?" he interrupted her in a voice that gave her chills. "I know where I come from. I know what my father was, and I can't turn into that. The nightmares I've had, Bones… I _saw_ myself as him."

Suddenly, his hands came up to grasp her upper arms just below the shoulders, forgetting his self-promise moments earlier to keep his hands to himself. Desperation filled his eyes - desperation for understanding, desperation for her, desperation for release of the burden he carried. His voice was little more than a hoarse rasp.

"Do you hear me, Bones? My goddamn father! I saw myself as him holding _Parker._ So don't you think for one minute that I would hesitate to do whatever it takes to protect you both, before I'd let _that_ get near either one of you." His eyes were fierce, leaving no doubt he meant it.

She was shaking her head back and forth fiercely, too emotional to put voice to her feelings. "Booth, no. You're not…"

The dam had broken, and he couldn't stop himself anymore from unburdening the last and darkest of the pain he'd carried since Albania. "I _hurt_ you over there, Bones. Regardless of the reason, how does it make me any different? I question it every day. What if there was a different way? I saw how you looked at me when it was finally over, and I hated myself for it. Sometimes I still do."

She answered him quickly this time, her hands still on his chest but not pushing him away. But for the second time that night, tears began to fill her eyes, her voice rising and her agitation growing.

"I _never_ hated you, Booth…not even for a moment. And you are _not_ your father. You're a good man. You're the best man I've ever known." She tried to bring her voice back to a normal level, but the effort did little to hide the emotion behind the words as together the two of them returned to that room in Albania. "I didn't hate you. I don't think I could ever hate you. I _know_ I pushed you away, but I thought you hated _me_ right after it happened. You seemed so angry." Her voice trembled as she relived that particular memory, of him roughly putting his coat on her just before they left that awful room…her having jumped away from him moments before when she saw blood on his hands, followed by his guilt-induced harsh words. "I didn't know what to believe. You were there, and I still knew on some level that you were there to save me, despite what you had just done. But nothing made any sense."

He flinched, still grasping her arms tightly but far below the threshold of pain. His eyes looked _haunted_ , her impassioned words and tear-filled eyes taking some of the fight out of him. His thumbs loosened their grip enough to brush over her skin. His eyes stayed locked with hers as he spoke with equal emotion.

"I know. Jesus. I know. I handled it badly. I didn't think about the fact that you were drugged and scared. But you jumped away from me and I thought you'd never want me near you again. I just didn't want to hurt you anymore by getting too close."

The next words were some of the hardest he'd ever have to say to her, but he knew he needed to get them out - knew she needed to hear them, no matter how much it contradicted his very nature to make such an admission. He drew her a little closer, his eyes boring into hers and searching them desperately.

"I was scared to death, Bones. I've never been so scared in my entire life; not even in the war."

He could feel her eyes on him as she stopped moving, even stopped breathing. He could almost taste the shock he saw reflected in them - and he knew the thought had never crossed her mind.

… ooo … ooo

She turned his words over and over in her mind, as they changed her entire perspective on all of Booth's actions. It was easy to forget that Booth, larger than life FBI agent and highly decorated Army Ranger sniper, always so confident and able to take care of himself in any situation, might have had even a moment's doubt in his ability to complete his mission. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was even _able_ to be frightened.

"You were scared too?" she asked, almost childlike in the way she said it, but nothing childlike at all about the emotion in her eyes.

He forced himself to keep looking at her, but could only manage a tight nod in answer to that question. Jaw muscle ticking as he suddenly found himself fighting his own flashbacks, he laid it all out for her. "I knew I still had to get you out, and I didn't have a damn clue how I was going to do it. Yeah, Bones. I was scared. Scared of you getting hurt, scared of what might have already happened to you before I got you back, scared of watching you die and not being able to stop it. Scared I'd never get to tell you how sorry I was and how much I loved you."

Serious eyes were locked to his face, and then he felt strong, smooth hands reach up to cup his face, soothing and caressing. Unable to stop the stream of words once they began, he continued to pour it all out a little desperately, wondering when the tables had turned and she'd become the one protecting him instead of the other way around. He finally released her arms, his hands coming down to settle at her waist and gripping her as tightly as if he still feared she might slip away from him at any moment. His forehead dropped down to rest against hers, putting their lips so close they could each feel the other's breath tickling their skin.

"It still scares the hell out of me, every single night that you're not right there in my arms where I know you're safe. I hate it. It's what _gives_ me nightmares, Bones. Because if anything had happened to you...if I hadn't been able to get you out in time before somebody touched you or God forbid killed you..." Feeling just slightly out of control at that thought, his hands on her waist suddenly and without warning jerked her forward against him, eliminating the rest of the space between them and making her hands drop down to his shoulders to catch herself.

His eyes bored into her, almost burning her in their intensity, and her breath caught. She had been pushing him every chance she got for the past several days, trying to push past his rigid control; but tonight she hadn't even been trying and now she'd succeeded twice. She had never seen him like this before, teetering on the very edge of barely restrained passion that he had control of by a thread. But this second time it wasn't sexual passion. It was passion for _her,_ for protecting her, for needing her - the flip side of the passion coin, one which she had never before experienced with any other man. His voice was becoming more hoarse by the moment.

"Bones, I don't know what I'd have done. Do you have any idea what I'd be capable of? _I_ don't even know how far I'd go. God, when Naji saw all that blood…when I thought you had been raped..."

Her eyes grew wide, and her fingers dug into his shoulders as tightly as his fingers gripped her waist. So much of what Booth had gone through during those hours was still a mystery to her, despite all the talking they had already done - and she was beginning to understand that it might take years for each of them to fully make the other understand all that had happened. And suddenly a lot of things in recent days made more sense to her, especially Booth's reluctance...

She had a decent idea of exactly which point in time Booth referenced, but had been teetering in and out on the edge of consciousness by that point, fated to collapse only moments later. She had only been dimly aware of Booth and Naji shouting at each other, and utterly oblivious to the horrifying conclusion Booth had drawn from that blood. She remembered Naji mentioning blood, but had been so shocked by the sight of it running down her legs that she hadn't focused on the rest of the conversation; and then almost immediately the drugs in her system had caused her to drop into merciful unconsciousness, which had put a rapid end to the two men's fighting as they sprang to catch her.

"Oh...Booth, you thought - you thought you were too late. You thought somebody had..."

He couldn't let her say it. The words fell out of his mouth like a confession, his voice hard and rough as he dropped his gaze and refused to meet her eyes. "For a little while, yeah I did. It almost killed me, Bones. You were unconscious. I told Naji to get you out and not wait for me. I was going to kill every one of them if I had to, but I was _going_ to find out who had hurt you." Fresh rage visibly and noticeably filled him again, just thinking about it.

Her eyes were full of tears, her hands clutching him like a lifeline as she asked a question she suspected she already knew the answer to. "And then what were you going to do?"

His only answer was to lift his eyes back to meet hers, and the darkness in them told her everything she needed to know. The intensity in those dark, smoldering brown eyes that looked black as night hit her square in the chest with all the force of a bullet.

Her eyes fluttered shut against the intensity of his anger and her own guilt, then looked back up at him just as quickly. "Booth...I don't want you to kill for me."

His eyes closed, stayed shut for a couple beats, and then reopened still locked on hers but with the dark anger under control. "I know. That's the only reason I didn't kill Edon myself. I couldn't. I knew you'd hate it."

She froze in his arms, and that was when he realized: she didn't know. How could she? He hadn't _told_ her, other than to cryptically imply that he'd done away with her kidnapper.

"Edon's alive?"

… ooo … ooo

He couldn't take the sudden terror in her voice, and wished he could yank the words back. He tightened his grip on her. "No, Bones. He's dead. He's dead, I promise."

"But you said before that _you_ killed him." God help him, it was a little scary to see the same wish reflected in her eyes that he felt in his soul, and to hear it in her voice: the wish that he had personally been the one to make Edon breathe his last. How much damage had been done to both of them?

He forced his hand to come up to her face. Twice in one night now he'd terrified her. He tried to calm her with his eyes. "I told you he was dead and he'd never hurt you or anybody else ever again, and that was the truth. I wouldn't lie to you. I never said I killed him myself. I didn't. I just arranged it."

Her hands gripped him tightly. "How?"

Something dangerous glittered in his eyes. "He sold you to pay his gambling debts, Bones. _Gambling_ debt." Only she could truly realize the significance of that to him. "He was willing to trade your life for his. The Albanian bookies were after him, so I took the money he made off you and gave him back to them. They finished him off, Bones, you can bet on it. More slowly than I had time to."

The way he said that... "You wanted to kill him. Booth, you wanted to _kill."_

Even with that look in her eye, he couldn't lie to her. "Yeah. And I've regretted 100 times that I didn't kill him myself. If I'd known at the time the rest of what was going to happen to you, I would have done it myself and I wouldn't have flinched. I promise you that, Bones. If that makes me a terrible man, then so be it."

Tearful blue eyes were looking at him with more understanding than he thought he probably deserved, and then suddenly her face was buried in his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him. His own came up around her, clutching her far more tightly than he'd have thought would be possible ever again after what happened only a few minutes earlier. "You're not a terrible man," she told him decisively. "I feel the same way. He was going to do it again, Booth. He would have done it again."

His lips found the top of her head as he held her close to him.

… ooo … ooo

He lost track of how long he stood there holding her; lost track of how many times he thanked God for letting him find her alive, as well as for the fact that even though his own worst fear of going too far with her and scaring her had just come true, it hadn't torn them apart. In fact, it appeared that perhaps they had just grown closer.

For so long, in his mind he had imagined that if what happened in his bed earlier ever happened, that would be the end.

He'd been the one to come up with the concept of trial and error. But she was the one who had just showed him what it truly meant.

It meant that he'd screwed up huge, they were okay, they'd try again another time, and they'd do it differently.

And in the process, he'd finally unburdened his soul to her. He'd finally let go of the precipice and trusted her enough to save him when he fell headlong into the pit of emotions he'd done everything he could to suppress. And God bless her, she'd caught him.

Eyes closing, he enveloped her more closely in his embrace. "I'm so damn sorry for the way it all happened, but God, I'm glad you're here baby," he finally whispered into her hair. He wasn't sure if he meant that night and her being home from Philadelphia, or what had happened in Albania and her being there _at all._

She clearly believed it to mean the former. "I wanted to surprise you."

His eyes squeezed shut, barely able to think about it without cringing. He'd been about a half second from something that could've destroyed him. But she had stopped him - had _told_ him she was uncomfortable - and the knowledge that she would do so actually _helped_ , in some strange way, to give him confidence that there would not only be a next time but that it might even be successful without him having a heart attack in the process.

"I know you did," he told her, regretting the lost opportunity for a happy reunion. "And that means the world to me, Bones. I'll make this night up to you, I promise. I promise." His hands rubbed up and down her back soothingly, breathing in deeply and inhaling the sweet scent that was just his _Bones._ Again, his lips brushed against her temple. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you tonight, did I?"

She shook her head against his shoulder. "No. And I'm glad I'm here too."

The realization hit Booth like a truck. She'd come home just to be with him. Yes, it initially had gone badly, but together they'd gotten past it. So now they should be curled up somewhere, laughing and kissing and telling each other how much they'd missed one another, and making empty promises to never leave each other's side again.

In fact, he thought to himself, that was _exactly_ what they were going to do. And though he wouldn't have believed it possible just a little while earlier, he felt a smile start to grow on his face.

She was _home._

She _was_ his home.

"C'mon." He released her, but took her hand in his and kissed it, leading her toward the living room and his couch. "Sit with me a few minutes. I want to hear about your trip."

"Booth, it's the middle of the night."

"Don't care." Mostly because he really wanted to spend some time with her, but at least partly because he had absolutely no idea what to even suggest as far as sleeping arrangements. He sort of felt like he was back to square one on that one. Would she even want to go near his bed? Did _he_ want to? Did she still have on that black lace thing underneath his clothes? In the absence of a better plan, he'd stall until she took the lead and gave him some clue what to do. He sat down on the couch and opened his arms in invitation, and with very little hesitation she surprised him by sitting right in his lap, body turned sideways and relaxing into his embrace as his arms wound around her waist.

"How did you get here, Bones? What about the university?"

Her eyebrow rose. As with any story, she felt it best to begin at the beginning. "When I woke up this morning I went straight to Dr. Andrews' room," she told him calmly and had to bite her lip at the expression that crossed his face. Okay. Perhaps that time it was _slightly_ on purpose. She hid her face on his shoulder to hide her smile as his arms predictably tightened on her.

"O...kay. He was staying at the hotel too?"

"Yes. He had the room on the other side of me."

Booth swallowed hard. It was a pretty damn good thing he hadn't known _that_. "Mm-hm."

Pulling her completely composed face out of his shoulder, she looked at him for a moment before finishing. "I told him that if he couldn't reschedule me to earlier today so I could get home tonight, I was canceling completely."

"Mm- _hm_. _"_ He couldn't help it. Despite everything, she was home and in his arms after rejecting the blonde perfect-teethed doctor _and_ his university just to come home to him, _Temperance Brennan_ was intentionally making him jealous, and he felt the beginnings of a ridiculously content grin spreading across his face. "And what did Dr. Android say?"

" _Andrews._ Booth, you're doing that on purpose!" She couldn't help grinning back at him, her body relaxing. It was going to be okay. It was almost overwhelming how _happy_ she was to see him and how _right_ it felt, despite the debacle of their initial reunion.

A mischievous look entered his eyes. "Eh, I like Android. He sounds like a nice guy. Feeding the world's hottest forensic anthropologist a diner cheesesteak and calling it authentic. Classy."

"Booth!" she couldn't help laughing in protest as he playfully pulled her closer, having fun at the expense of a guy that might have got to spend the last three days with her but that was all he was going to get.

"What's wrong with a diner?" she asked reasonably. "That sounds like a double standard, Booth. You take me to our diner all the time."

"Yeah, 'cause it was already kind of, you know, _our_ place, but I don't take you there when I'm trying to _impress_ you. Come on, Bones, spill. What did Dr. Greasy Spoon say when you laid down the law so you could get home early to your unbelievably handsome partner?"

Eyes twinkling, she didn't deny any of it. "For your information, he guessed exactly why I wanted to leave, and he said to tell Booth he was an extremely fortunate man."

His eyes were still full of happiness, but his face grew a little more serious.

Andrews knew his name. That said a damn lot.

"Yeah. He's right about that." He wanted to kiss her, a real welcome home kiss, but was a little nervous about it after all that had just happened. So instead he cocked his head to the side and quirked his lips up at her, eyes narrowing in feigned suspicion. "You didn't steal his fries at the diner, did you?"

Her arms, one of which was resting casually around his shoulders and the other lying in her lap, both came up to wind around his neck as she drew even a little closer. "You'd be jealous if I stole his fries?" she asked with some amusement.

"Oh, incredibly. I'd probably have to go beat him up," he teased, at least 98% kidding.

She inched a little closer, and he realized that she had fully recovered from whatever flash of panic had jolted through her earlier and now _wanted_ to kiss him. Her eyes sparkled happily, confirming for him with no lack of amusement that she was enjoying his mild jealousy.

"Even if I was thinking about you the whole time?" she asked suggestively.

" _Especially_ then." His hand came up to play with the ends of her hair for a moment before he pushed her hair behind her ear and stroked his thumb along her cheek. He was still smiling, but his words were more serious and she thought perhaps they weren't talking about fries anymore. "I'm pretty sure that'd be even worse."

"You have nothing to worry about, Booth," she told him, fingers playing in the hair at the nape of his neck. "I have no desire to steal anybody else's fries."

He couldn't stop the affectionate grin that broke out in full force. "I'm glad."

"Actually, he tried to steal fries off _my_ plate," she told him, reverting back to the original topic.

With a look of mock horror, Booth shook his head in sympathy. "Poor bastard. Never had a chance, did he?"

"Most definitely not," she told him, and did what he'd been debating doing for the past minute and a half: she melded their lips together in a tender, sweet kiss of reunion. He responded immediately. Both of his hands came up to gently frame her face, his lips stroking over hers again and again as he showed her just how much he'd missed her and how much he loved her - and she did the same.

He pulled away from her lips to plant tiny, soft, slow, adoring kisses on her face, across her cheeks, brushing over her forehead, her eyelids, and she sighed in contentment.

"I never even considered staying through Friday. All I could think about was our date," she confessed as his lips adored her.

The topic hit Booth like a ton of bricks, and he froze for a second. Three days away...

Things were definitely not irreparably damaged, but _still..._ after what had just happened, there was _no freaking way._

"We'll still have dinner, Bones, and I'll take you somewhere nice," he told her, brushing his lips across hers once more.

"Mmm. Have you booked a room yet?" she asked, pulling back to look at him.

His mouth fell slightly open, hands dropping to her shoulders. "Yeah, but, uh... I'll cancel it tomorrow."

"Why?"

He looked at her as though she'd suddenly informed him she was leaving forensic anthropology to go back to school as a psych major. His eyes flicked involuntarily toward his bedroom and back.

" _Why?_ Bones, you can't be serious."

"I'm very serious. I see no reason to cancel our date _or_ the room."

His eyes were as serious as hers. "Are you telling me you still want to try after...tonight? So _soon_ after tonight?"

"Trial and error, Booth. We both knew error was a possibility. But it happened and we're both okay. I was only frightened for a moment."

"Yes, of _me._ Of me almost being inside you, Bones," he told her bluntly. "Frightened enough to push me off and tell me to let you go."

"And you did," she reminded him. "You did immediately. If anything, Booth, that fact should increase both of our confidence."

"No. Bones, _no_."

"It was only because of the way it happened," she persisted. "You thought I was a dream, Booth, and responded according to fantasy. I've had dreams of a similar nature this week. But I know our actual first time will be different. I know that. I know I won't be frightened."

The reference to his less-than-gentlemanly way of going after her earlier simultaneously embarrassed and frustrated him. "This... _this_ is exactly why I didn't want to talk about that, Bones. This is why we should never have gone there. What happened is exactly what I was afraid of."

She didn't give in so easily. "But it's what I want too, eventually. You said yourself that I was actively participating until the last moment."

He exhaled roughly, almost a snort. "Doesn't really change the end result, now does it? That topic is _closed_. Indefinitely."

Her lips pursed. "And the topic of Friday?" she asked, and the hopeful look in her eyes gave him pause. Shit. She'd come home specifically _for_ this. And what had she said right before she'd asked him to kiss her neck the night before she left? That it was hanging over their heads until they overcame it? The same concept definitely applied.

He hesitated. "Let me think about it. Give me until tomorrow, okay? I won't cancel the room yet, but I need...I need some time to sort this out."

She nodded. "Fine. And perhaps you're right that we should examine the other container of grubs at a later date. I was...surprised by my reaction as well."

Despite the way his brain was spinning, his lips twitched. "Can of worms, Bones. Open that _can of worms_."

"Isn't that what I said?"

Shaking his head, he decided to try a different tactic - going forehead to forehead with her and changing the subject. "Hm. God, you're pretty."

He'd caught her off guard, and her cheeks pinked and she looked a little flustered. "I - thank you." She fumbled for words before deciding on, "So are you."

His nose wrinkled up. "Hm. We'll work on the compliment thing." After a second or so of trying to decide how to broach the inevitable topic, he sighed. "I'm just going to ask, because I don't have a clue what to do right now. Do you want to stay here, or do you want me to drive you home?"

She hesitated. "May I just stay here?"

 _May_ she? Well, if the way his entire body almost buckled in relief at that response was any indication, he was pretty sure the answer was yes.

"Where do you want to sleep?" he played it cool.

"We should go to bed. I need to go back to work tomorrow and I'll need to stop at my apartment first."

He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. One of his hugest fears had come true; and yet everything was...okay. She was okay. _They_ were okay. She'd come to him almost immediately, hadn't been scared of him past the initial moment it happened, and they were _going to be okay_. In that moment, she could have told him she wanted them to sleep in a clown museum and he'd have been fine with it. She still wanted to go to bed _with_ him - where he would definitely be keeping his hands to himself for the rest of the night except to hold her.

"Yes, ma'am," he teased her, planting a kiss on the bridge of her nose before maneuvering her so he could get up, smiling to himself as he followed her into his bedroom, which she strode purposely to as though she owned the place. Not a problem. It was hers forever if she wanted it.

 **…** **ooo … ooo …**

He really _had_ been tired, he realized.

Brennan was up and out of his apartment the next morning almost without him realizing it. Booth vaguely remembered putting up a mild grumble of protest when she started trying to extricate herself from his grasp at some ungodly hour, but he must have fallen back asleep pretty fast - that was the extent of his memory of the event.

When his own alarm finally woke him, he actually spent a second or two wondering if the _entire_ thing the night before had been a dream. But considering that he could still smell the scent of her hair on the pillow beside him when he pulled it over his head to block out the sunlight, he stopped worrying about that pretty quickly.

She wasn't in Philadelphia. She was home, back at work, already bent over some skeleton.

But she'd come to _him_ first, a fact which filled him to the brim with satisfaction.

The note he found on his kitchen table confirmed it.

 _Booth,_

 _I tried to tell you I was leaving but I am not entirely certain that you understood me. You spoke but your words were unintelligible. I didn't want you to worry. Please call me when you decide about Friday. You know my preference regarding your decision, and that has not changed._

 _-Bones_

And just like that, anything else he had hoped to focus on that day was right out the window. It was Wednesday. Not much time left to cancel those two unbelievably expensive nights in the nicest place he'd ever even thought about staying, not if he wanted to do it within the 24 hour window to get his money back if he cancelled; which he _definitely_ did want to do if that happened. This relationship hadn't been cheap so far, not that he would even dream of complaining. It was a small, small price to pay as far as he was concerned. But he hoped one day, sooner rather than later, to have a sudden need to buy a ring.

Regardless, he needed to make a decision about Friday. And he needed to make it soon.

… ooo … ooo …

At lunchtime, he stood outside her office door watching as she clickety-clacked away on her keyboard, so intent on what she was doing that she hadn't looked up and seen him yet.

It was a good thing too, because he was still trying to get his nerve up. It had seemed like such a good idea when he originally thought of it. Shifting the containers of Thai he held in his arms - because this was _definitely_ going to be a staying-in kind of lunch, considering that Bones had probably not made any great and sudden strides in the concept of modulating her voice when discussing delicate personal matters at restaurant tables - he glanced appreciatively at the glass windows and doors of her office.

Sure, he'd at times questioned the sanity of anybody who would put _glass walls_ on an office, and especially _her_ office - usually when he was in the middle of fantasizing about doing things to her on her desk that would be made slightly more problematic by the utter lack of privacy all that glass provided. Even in fantasy he was scared shitless of the idea of Angela standing out of sight somewhere across the platform with binoculars and a megaphone to broadcast the play-by-play.

But today he thought all of that glass was the single greatest stride in office design in modern times, and he'd gladly nominate the designer for an award if he knew how.

Because today it was an intricate part of his plan.

Because today all that glass meant that they'd actually _finish_ this conversation, which wasn't likely to happen anywhere that they'd have any semblance of privacy for it.

Because by the time she got done answering his questions and finally telling him every last detail of that dream she'd had about them together so many nights ago on her couch - the one where she'd not only been okay with everything that happened, but so aroused she'd ended up touching him in his sleep…

By the time that was done and she had in essence told him exactly how she wanted him to make love to her on Friday night, if it weren't for those glass walls he'd be all over her if he had even a moment's chance - and he knew it.

TO BE CONTINUED…


	43. Chapter 43

**Author's Note: Brennan's dream, continually referenced in this chapter and the next, was way back somewhere in Chapter 31 if you need a refresher. Also...please forgive this wandering author who took FREAKING FOREVER to edit this and finally write the next chapter. But Merry Christmas to me, it's DONE. Posting this chapter tonight, and the already written Chapter 44 tomorrow (the final chapter, which I had to write in its entirety after about 5 years of not writing anything other than a couple recent epi-based fics, because I chickened out from writing the full on M scene last time around and never finished, and OHMYGOD I have been forty rounds with myself over whether I could even still pull it off! \panic attack OFF). There WILL be an epilogue at some future time, but after posting chapter 44 tomorrow I will officially mark this fic as complete...may want to leave notifications on for it anyway, if you would like to see the eventual epilogue which I've actually had in my head since somewhere around chapter 10, lol. Sorry for the giddiness...I just never thought I'd actually pull this off.**

CHAPTER 43

"Booth!"

Brennan looked up as her partner appeared directly in front of her desk, not exactly startled but having had her attention abruptly jolted away from the computer screen where it had been riveted. "You're here already?"

Her complete inattention to time didn't even faze him anymore. "It's 1:00, Bones," he grinned at her.

She blinked, and he knew she was completely surprised by that. She probably hadn't moved in three hours. "Oh. Let me get my coat, and we'll go to lunch."

Quickly holding up the bags in one hand, Booth extended his other hand in her direction to indicate that she should sit back down, his charm smile firmly in place. He had a feeling he was going to need it. "No need, Bones. Lunch came to you today. Here ya go."

Wanting her to _stay behind her desk_ , he ignored the odd look she gave him as he quickly rifled through the bags and laid all of her food out for her, opening everything and serving her there at her desk.

"I can get my own, Booth."

"Yep," was all he said as he quickly gathered his and moved to the couch in her office.

She looked at him oddly for another second before again moving to stand. "I'll sit with you. I could use a break from my desk."

"Nooooo, no, no, no, no, no," he told her cheerfully but seriously, again holding out his hand and pointing a finger. "You stay _right_ there, Bones."

Now she was looking at him like a piece of evidence that didn't add up, something he knew she tended to take personally.

"Is everything all right?"

"Everything's great, Bones." He took a large bite of his food, taking his time to chew and swallow while she tentatively took a bite and studied him like she wasn't completely sure he wasn't going to jump up and bite _her_ next. "I, uh, didn't cancel the room," he told her casually just before popping in his next bite.

Her eyebrows jumped slightly as _her_ next bite froze on the way to her lips, and he saw a little understanding dawn on her face. She probably thought she'd figured out exactly what this was about and why he wanted to stay in.

He was pretty sure she hadn't.

"Are you still _going_ to cancel it?" she asked carefully, clearly expecting him to launch into a huge discussion about all the reasons it was a bad idea not to.

"No. If you still want me to keep it, I'll keep it." After a moment of surprise, she started to look like the cat that ate the canary; so he abandoned the pretense of even being remotely interested in his food and quickly held up a restraining finger as he hastily threw in one little addition to that: "On one condition."

"Condition?" she asked, her face falling, and he made full use of his poker face to keep her from seeing how much he enjoyed catching her off guard. Drawing out his advantage, he didn't answer right away. Instead, he set his food to the side with a gleeful motion to her to wait, stood up, made his way to the door of her office, and casually closed and locked it.

He could feel her eyes burning into his back, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head when he turned to look at her, casually leaning back against the door and shoving his hands in his pockets as he tried to figure out how to even _start_ this conversation.

He should have known she'd still be trying to put two and two together, inevitably coming to the _way_ wrong answer.

She looked confused, intrigued, and - God help him - mildly turned on as she shifted in her seat and her eyes _very_ noticeably traveled to his crotch - an action which made a lot more sense when the next words came out of her mouth and he realized just exactly what she thought his one condition was and why he was keeping her in for lunch.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and he watched in fascination. "I have no objection, but perhaps during the middle of the workday is not the best time. My walls are made of glass, Booth."

After the initial moment of Bones-induced shock, he couldn't help the little boost his ego took at the knowledge that if that _had_ been his condition, she'd have been only all-too-eager to get hold of him. Even if it was a little disconcerting that she could think he'd be _that_ much of an ass.

But thanks to her eagerness, he could feel his arousal begin to stir as though her eyes running across him had been a physical touch.

 _Glass walls. Thank God for glass walls._

Shoving off of the door while he could still walk without embarrassing himself, he made his way back to her couch. "Not even close, Bones. More not even close than usual...just so you know that. But those glass walls are exactly why we're _here_ , Bones. From outside your office, it'll look like we're just sharing a friendly lunch and talking about the weather or something." _And I'll have no choice but to keep my hands to myself until you give me the whole story, and neither will you,_ he inwardly congratulated himself on his cleverness.

She just looked more confused and - to his amusement - slightly disappointed as she tried to figure out why he needed to lock the door if he was staying on the couch and she was staying at her desk. "I don't know what that means."

He waited until he'd sat down, leaned back into the cushions with his arm thrown up on the back of the couch and got himself good and comfortable to look at her to answer.

"It means that you're finally going to tell me every last detail of that dream you had about us that first night we spent together on your couch."

… ooo … ooo …

The request didn't appear to bother her at all, initially. Only mild surprise and a tiny smirk crossed her face. "Why?"

All playfulness aside, that was the key question and he knew it. He needed her to know that this wasn't just about giving him fodder for his fantasies, or teasing her, or stroking his ego. He had a very, very serious purpose behind it. Any amusement or playfulness dropped from his eyes as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, watching her seriously.

"Because whatever you dreamed about us doing, you were _okay_ with it, Bones. I'm guessing that was the first time you'd really, you know, felt desire after what happened over there. And however things happened between us in that dream, you were okay with it. So - especially after what happened last night - I need to know what that was...and _why_ you were okay with it."

He had expected one of a few different reactions. He'd expected her to roll her eyes and kick him out of her office for sounding too much like Sweets; or maybe he'd expected her to explain it in extremely clinical terms; or maybe he'd even halfway hoped she'd do it in the most _un_ clinical terms possible in an effort to make him completely crazy and lure him into some supply closet somewhere that _didn't_ have glass walls.

Especially considering her original unconcerned reaction, he definitely hadn't expected her to suddenly look trapped and mildly uncomfortable, not wanting to meet his gaze.

"Bones?" he asked her leaning a little more forward, wondering how he'd miscalculated. Had she _not_ been okay with things in her dream? That would make...well, absolutely no sense, considering that by her own admission she'd still been aroused when she woke up and had decided to start touching him.

She turned to her computer, her face quickly paling. "I wrote it out in my book, remember? I'll just let you read the chapter."

"No." His objection was immediate, and not just because he didn't want to read it as Andy and Kathy. He wanted to _watch_ her tell it, in her own words, to _him._ He wanted to gauge her responses, read everything in her eyes and tone of voice that could tell him what was a good idea, bad idea, sure to send her over the moon, or just too risky.

At least, that was what he had wanted initially. But when he saw the way she instantly became mildly terrified about a topic that should have been right up her alley, his focus changed instantly.

"Bones?" He leaned further forward until he was almost on the edge of the couch, his eyes focused intently on her face. "You should absolutely _love_ this topic. What's going on?" he asked her directly, leaving no question that he needed a straight answer, and quickly.

… ooo … ooo …

It wasn't the part he thought it was that bothered her, and she knew it.

It had nothing to do with the part where she showed up at his door all but naked under her coat, or even the part where he reached out and dragged her through that door before pushing her up against it. It had nothing to do with the obvious intent they both had, or the way things progressed. It _definitely_ had nothing to do with his mouth on her right where she wanted it just before she woke up.

In fact, it really had nothing to do with the sex at all.

That was the problem.

It had _everything_ to do with the fact that he didn't just want to know _what_ they had done. He wanted to know _why_ she'd been okay with it so quickly after Albania, from her perspective.

It had everything to do with the fact that in her dream, she _had_ become uncomfortable - a fact which was, of course, left out of her book account she'd just offered to let him read.

It had everything to do with the fact that in her dream, as she'd hovered naked above him on the couch, it had only been his soft _'I love you_ ' that had broken through her sudden flash of discomfort and refocused her enough to lower herself into contact with him - another fact which was conspicuously absent from the chapter she'd suddenly _love_ to just let him read.

It had everything to do with the fact that, despite how far they'd already come together, she still had no idea how to verbally explain such a thing to him - how to reconcile such an intimate blending of the physical and emotional, of the tender and the passionate.

After all, _she_ wasn't the expert on that. He was the one who was supposed to teach her. _Never_ had her dreams ever included any kind of proclamation of love before that night. Never had it been even remotely necessary. She remembered that it had shocked and almost bothered her in the dream at the same time that it had reassured her.

 _Telling_ him about it would be even worse. He'd either laugh at her silliness, or he'd decide she clearly wasn't ready and start backpedaling.

… ooo … ooo …

She kept staring at her computer screen, but her hands had stilled on the mouse and keyboard. He supposed she'd probably been pulling up the chapter in question, and had just continued to do so even after he told her that wasn't what he wanted. Perhaps most disturbing was the fact that she wouldn't look at him.

"I..." she began hesitantly, and then paused.

If he leaned any farther forward, he'd end up on the floor. Why the hell had he thought keeping 10 feet of distance between them was a good idea? Suddenly, he needed contact, but he didn't dare approach her. She looked ready to bolt at any moment.

Until suddenly she didn't. With complete fascination, he watched decision set in on her features, watched as she squared her shoulders and locked eyes with him, her chin lifting up in a way that he would have thought was haughty if he didn't know her inside and out.

"Do you promise not to laugh?"

That _question_ almost made him laugh, mostly out of pure disbelief, because he had a feeling there was absolutely nothing funny _or_ ridiculous about what she was about to say. He suddenly realized that he'd managed to hit the nail right on the head by pushing this issue - whatever she had to say was clearly of the utmost importance, whether she realized it or not.

But instead of reacting, he just nodded quietly, letting his eyes convey just how seriously he took it.

"Your first question was _what_ happened in the dream, and your second question was why I felt comfortable with it. I believe it would make most sense to go in chronological order for your first question, and answer the question of _why_ I was comfortable with it when we reach that point."

So she had decided on calm and clinical, he realized - another sign that something about what she had dreamed had pushed her comfort level.

"However you want, Bones," Booth managed to respond, having absolutely no idea what to expect at this point.

"I believe I should mention that while it was the first time I had this particular dream after we returned from Albania, it was actually a recurring dream for quite a long time before that."

Booth swallowed. Hard. He hadn't expected _that_. But with Bones, specificity was always a good idea - so there was something he needed to ask before he got too carried away with the thought of her fantasizing about him often.

Adjusting his tie - because it was suddenly _way_ too tight - he managed to sound like the entire world didn't depend on her answer. "In general? Or...you know, with me?"

She couldn't really _know_ that her pause to honestly consider her answer was putting him on the border of going into cardiac arrest, so he bit his tongue as he waited for her to answer.

"It's a fairly common fantasy, I believe, so I can't honestly say that it's one I've never entertained some version of with other partners. But I believe it's safe to say that I cannot vividly recall ever having that particular fantasy about anyone else. It has only been about you for as long as I can remember."

His body drained of tension he hadn't even known it held. "Good answer, Bones."

She gave him that perplexed look he always loved, her brow wrinkling and the corners of her lips turning down. "It's simply the truth."

He couldn't help the smile that made its way across his face. "I know. That's what makes it a good answer."

She just shrugged, still looking as though she didn't completely understand his response...so he wasn't really expecting it when she went in for the kill.

"It begins with me arriving at your door with the intention of seducing you."

And that tension that had been thrumming through his body was back immediately. That didn't take long.

She paused as though waiting for his reaction, and he almost groaned at the idea that she intended this to be a give-and-take rather than a narrative. Normally, coming up with at least one single pertinent question and putting voice to it didn't seem so difficult.

"Are we...is it the first time? Or are we in a - um, are we together?" It'd been a while since he'd worried about whether or not the word 'relationship' would freak her out; but _something_ about this whole thing definitely did, so he wasn't taking any chances.

"No. It's always the first time. You're never expecting it."

 _That_ sent Booth's eyebrows sky high, as did the sudden insane wish that he had brought Sweets along to tell him if that was _interesting_ or not. Because he sure as hell thought it probably was.

"Mm-hm. Go on."Jesus, now he _sounded_ like Sweets.

"Do you want all of the details? Such as what I'm wearing?"

 _God help me._

This time he didn't just adjust the tie. He jerked the knot out of the thing completely. Why was it so _hot_ in her office? Thank God for glass walls...suddenly he loved those transparent things even more, because at this point it wasn't just about keeping his hands to himself long enough to hear the whole story anymore. Now it was also about not stepping on whatever land mine he was clearly dancing around. And those clear walls were the only reason he didn't have to make the monumental decision of whether to touch her or not. He _knew_ she wouldn't want even a comforting touch when anyone could see, so the windows made it obvious that staying on the couch was the right path.

But she was still waiting for an answer to the whole "Shall-I-describe-your-every-wet-dream-in-graphic-detail-or-just-hit-the-highlights" question of utter absurdity. And since responding with "If you don't then I might actually have to shoot something" was probably the wrong answer...

"Whatever you feel is pertinent, Bones," is what he came up with. _Whatever you feel is_ _pertinent_ _? Okay, seriously, I've gotta get Sweets out of my freakin' head..._

And then he found himself waiting again. Her pauses to consider stuff like this were seriously starting to take years off his life.

"It's relevant, I believe, simply because of the way things proceed when I come through your door."

He nodded. That was just going to have to be response enough at this point.

"I'm wearing a trench coat with nothing underneath but a G string. And high heels."

Silence reigned for a few seconds as he tried not to visibly react to the fact that yet another one of her pet fantasies started off a whole hell of a lot like his.

"Uh-huh."

"Booth?"

"Uh-huh?"

There was a hint of a smile in her voice when she continued, and one in her eyes as well when he finally managed to get his eyes up and focus there halfway through her continued description. "They're black...the heels and the G string. It ties on the sides. In case you're curious, you're wearing nothing but jeans. They're unsnapped. You've been asleep, and you haven't shaved in a couple days."

His lips twitched back at her. Completely busted - his effort at nonchalance had obviously been an epic failure.

"Jeans and stubble, huh?" It felt good to break the tension for a minute and just flirt with her - to take the edge off for a few seconds - because he had no misconceptions about the fact that this was going to get uncomfortable again. "I'll make a note of that."

She seemed to agree. "Mmm. Yes, unsnapped." Irritation crossed her face. "Although I _do_ realize that it's completely illogical that you would be sleeping in your jeans. At some point I simply decided to sacrifice the rational in favor of the...aesthetic."

A full grin broke across his face - which was completely delighted but probably a little redder than normal. "Yeah, well, you've always been detail oriented, Bones."

She smiled back. "Yes, up to that point the details are always the same. But..." Her smile faltered and then faded, and he knew they'd reached the important part.

"But what, baby?" he asked gently, still loving the fact that she let him get away with that in private. He needed to say it right then...to remind them both that the entire point of this was that he loved her - _adored_ her. That he really, more than anything, just wanted to make sure Friday night was _good_ for her.

"But that particular night, the dream took a different direction. I'm certain that you'll want to hear both versions, to compare and contrast the standard version with the deviation?"

And _this_ was what had her so nervous. The squinty talk was a dead giveaway. So yeah, _this_ was exactly what Booth wanted to hear - very, very, very carefully...

He cleared his throat nervously, praying he wouldn't misstep. "Why don't you just tell me how it normally goes, and then what was different when you dreamed it after Albania? Just go point by point." Maybe hanging out with Sweets so much was good for something after all...

She nodded briskly, reverting into her 'scientist' persona. "That sounds like a logical approach."

Before he could even blink, she dove right in.

"You reached out and pulled me through the door, the same as normal, and backed me up against it. But when you held me against it..."

"That time it made you uncomfortable," he finished for her when she hesitated, correctly reading the fact that she didn't want to hurt him by saying it. But he'd already seen that part coming…he didn't need Sweets to explain _that_ one to him.

"Yes. That's never happened in the dream before."

"It's understandable, Bones. I'd even go so far as to say it's normal, after what we'd just been through."

"Usually at that point, you'd remove my coat. There are different versions, but they all had a common theme. Sometimes we would engage in intercourse against your door. Sometimes you'd pull me onto the floor. But, at least at the beginning of the dream, it usually started the same way."

"With me in control - the aggressor." It wasn't a question - he already had a pretty good idea where this was going.

"Yes. As I said, there were different versions, and in many of them I did take control at some point. But that night I felt the need to do so from the very beginning, which was different. I reversed our positions at the door, and removed your clothes rather than letting you remove mine."

Booth was leaning forward in his seat again, nodding, his eyes intent on her face. "Keep going, Bones. This is exactly what I need to hear."

As she had been speaking, more and more of the withdrawn, scientific manner had slipped away, and she seemed more hesitant by the word - more vulnerable.

"Eventually I stood up. You tried to remove my coat, but I wouldn't let you. I removed it myself."

He almost got stuck on the 'stood up' part - he wasn't sure exactly when she'd got on the ground in the first place, but clearly it had something to do with taking his clothes off. So maybe it was best that he not know more about that at this point anyway.

"Instead of the bed, I pulled you toward the couch."

"It had never happened on the couch before?" he interrupted softly, reading between the lines.

"No," she confirmed, his question prompting her to elaborate and making him glad he asked it. "That was completely new. You didn't try to touch me at all. You just let me lead you, and I remember...responding positively to that."

She dropped her gaze to her now interlocked hands on her desk, and Booth tried unsuccessfully to catch her eyes again. "Keep going, Bones, just like that," he whispered. "Please. You're doing great."

"I kissed you. You sat down on the couch, and I straddled you."

He was still terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing, but there was no stopping the mental image that was inevitable at hearing her say those words - or the physical reaction that went along with it. Doggedly ignoring it, Booth nodded encouragingly, willing her to look up at him. This was the point where he needed detail, so of course this seemed to be where she intended to balk.

"What did I do then?" he asked. "Where were my hands?"

"At my waist. Just resting there. You were waiting for me."

She paused for long enough for him to start getting nervous. And it was with great alarm that he then watched her eyes start to moisten. It took every ounce of self-control to stay in his seat and not appear at her side in less than a second.

"Bones? Hey, if this is too much right now..."

She shook her head furiously, impatient with her own weakness. "No. I can do this. Every time before, neither of us ever said a word. There was no interaction other than the physical. But everything about this time was _different_."

It felt like he was holding his breath as his focus changed completely. Had she really _got_ it - subconsciously, at least - all the way back at that point? Had she already begun to grasp what it was _really_ about even then? Was it possible that this dream had been a manifestation of that, neatly disguised as a sex dream? Booth's fingers gripped the edge of the couch, waiting for the answer.

"I was very...uncertain, and I couldn't understand what you were waiting for either. The way you were looking at me was different than in the regular version of the dream. I kissed you again, to distract myself, but I couldn't close the gap between our bodies. It was like I was paralyzed." Her voice rose higher, her eyes clouding over with memories that he wasn't sure he wanted her having.

"Temperance..." he started, with every intention of putting a stop to this before she could get too upset.

But he'd tried to rescue her just a split second too soon, he realized when she continued anyway - and he was never more grateful that she wasn't always the easiest person to rescue.

"But then you said...you said that you love me."

Watery blue eyes rose back up to him, all traces of uncertainty gone in a heartbeat - and Booth froze. Not because he'd suddenly had some great revelation about how to proceed on Friday; it was already a foregone conclusion that he'd be making sure she knew just exactly how _much_ he loved her at each step of the way when he made love to her on Friday - verbally and every other way imaginable.

No, he'd received something more valuable than advice on how to proceed with what he suddenly realized he'd already known how to handle. Friday would take care of itself, so long as he let her have the reins and was careful to reassure her every step of the way - which he would have done anyway. What he'd actually got out of this was the extremely gratifying knowledge that she had subconsciously realized, long before he thought she had, that everything between them was about love rather than lust - including the physical part of it.

The rest of the dream didn't even matter. He could read in her eyes what had happened next. The important part was that _everything_ that happened after that was fine - and it was fine because she knew he loved her; and because of that, she trusted him.

Studying her carefully, he let the words pop out of his mouth before he really thought about them. "The 'I love you' didn't make it into your book."

Her eyebrow jumped, but even in surprise her face seemed peaceful now that she'd told him the hardest part. "How did you know that?"

Booth shrugged, giving her a lopsided smile. "Lucky guess."

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him in return. "You don't even want to hear the rest, do you?"

It was his turn to look surprised. "How did _you_ know _that?"_

She smirked as she threw his own words back at him. "Lucky guess." But after a moment's hesitation, she added an afterthought, almost shyly. "But what I don't know is _why_ you want to stop there. You seemed to be...enjoying the story."

Black eyes burned into dark, dark blue from across the office. "I was. I _am_." He made sure he had her full attention before he continued, very seriously. "But...I've always preferred reality to fiction. Even _your_ fiction."

The way Brennan's breath caught in her throat was visible to him even from so far away. "Friday?"

Slowly, he nodded. "You kept up your end of the bargain, Bones. So now it's my turn. Friday. We'll make up our own ending to the story. Together."

Her voice dropped at least three shades lower, one eyebrow climbing toward the ceiling as a grin spread across her face. "I'm an excellent writer."

Normally, Booth would have come up with some witty response, preferably one laden with innuendo. But as it was, only one thought existed in his entire being:

 _Goddamn glass walls..._

… ooo … ooo …

The rest of Wednesday and all of Thursday went so well that it should have made him suspicious.

But instead, Booth couldn't stop smiling. For the first time since before Albania - and really since he'd realized he was in love with his partner - everything felt _right._ Brennan loved him back, had realized and _admitted_ she loved him back, and was by some miracle still in the continental 48. The events of the past days had forced them to talk through the majority of their residual issues from what had happened to them, and instead of splitting them apart they only seemed to have grown closer. She hadn't been reinstated to the field yet, but was even agreeable - finally - to Sweets' process for getting her there.

And most importantly, in less than 48 hours, he was going to be taking her to the place he'd picked out for them. And there he was going to be making love to her for the first time - and the second - and the third...

What was there not to be happy about?

Thanks to the glass walls that he had quickly resumed hating, they'd actually ended up eating their Thai food he'd brought on Wednesday afternoon, after their conversation was finished. And when he picked her up to bring her to his apartment Wednesday night, she came willingly. She helped him cook, wrinkled her nose at his non-organic ingredients, wrinkled her nose again at his choice of movie to play in the background while they made out on his couch, and then shared his bed overnight after only minimal efforts to make him break before Friday.

And then Thursday was more of the same - waking up with her in his arms, trying to make her late for work (or even just less insanely early) and enjoying every second of it. The perfect morning was quickly followed by lunch at the diner, a shared dinner at his apartment, and pushing the borders of both their self-restraint on his couch.

It was perfect.

So on Thursday night when she unexpectedly gathered her things when the credits rolled at the end of the Indiana Jones movie he'd _known_ she'd hate, and she told him that she had a few things she needed to do at her apartment that night, he didn't bat an eye. There were some arrangements he needed to be working on anyway if he wanted to make everything perfect for the next night - after which he had every intention of never spending another night without her if he could possibly help it.

In fact, it wasn't until after he'd vetoed her plan to take a cab home like the good Alpha male he was, had driven her home, and was standing with his hands braced high over her head on her apartment door doing all he could to get himself invited in - preferably without getting arrested for public indecency or getting kicked out of her apartment complex permanently in the process - that he finally felt the first pang of worry. Except for her trip to Philadelphia they'd been spending every night together, and it was only at that moment that nightmares crossed his mind.

It was a strong enough concern to make him pull his lips out of their very happy place behind her ear, where he'd found a spot that made Temperance Brennan produce a sound that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. He'd still been being careful about kissing her neck, despite the fact that she'd given him the green light after that night they'd worked on it, just before she had left for Philly. And he intended to keep being careful about that. But he'd discovered in their makeout sessions the past couple nights on his couch that if he gave her plenty of unmistakable warning that that was where he was headed, she was _more_ than okay with it 90 percent of the time. And she just directed him in other directions when she was feeling a little jumpy about it. He'd also learned that she definitely wasn't the shy type about telling him what she wanted, a fact which had caused him no small amount of physical discomfort thanks to the effect her 'requests' had on certain portions of his anatomy.

Despite his concerns, he couldn't help smiling at the huge grin on her face and just exactly how kiss-swollen her lips were - not to mention the fact that she was more than a little breathless.

"I'm not inviting you in, Booth," she told him, still with that lopsided grin that had his eyes still focused straight on her mouth. He couldn't help rising to the challenge.

"Hm. I bet if you give me 30 more seconds I can change your mind."

She moved her head just far enough to have her lips out of range of his, which were quickly closing in on hers again. "Former degenerate gamblers should not be making bets."

He was undeterred, managing to follow her and steal one more hot kiss. After all, at least she'd thrown in the word _former_ for once. With Bones it was all about the _small_ victories.

"Oh c'mon, Bones. It's not gambling when you know you can win."

"That...mmmm," she managed to tell him in between more kisses as he pulled her off of her door and more tightly against him, trying very hard to make her lose her train of thought, "sounds like a very dangerous...mmm...motto for someone battling an...mmm...addiction."

He knew when he was beat. With one last caress of her lips with his, he pulled back with a sigh of resignation, letting go of her with one arm to rest it on the doorframe. "There's only one thing I'm addicted to, Bones," he winked at her.

"Yes, I know," she told him with just a hint of confused impatience, that look she always got on her face when she couldn't figure out why he would be telling her something she already knew. "Gambling."

"Nope," he grinned at her, using his other hand to capture hers and bring it to his lips for an adoring kiss before backing away with a twinkle in his eye as he teased her. "Not any more. Not even close."

"Oh!" Recognition dawned on her face, as she pointed at him triumphantly with the hand he'd just released. "You're implying that you're addicted to _me_."

He wasn't sure if Bones was more pleased with herself about _that,_ or the fact that she'd figured out his very thinly veiled joke. God, he adored this woman.

"Yep. Very good, Bones."

She crossed her arms, but her words were far more stern than either her expression or tone of voice. Her eyes sparkled right back at him. "I'm fairly certain Sweets would consider that equally unhealthy."

Shoving his hands in his pockets so that there might actually be a small chance he'd somehow manage to refrain from grabbing her and kissing her again - since he really did need to go shopping and make some last-minute arrangements - Booth just shrugged good-naturedly. Some tiny part of him realized he was grinning like a fool. "Yeah, well...he's 12, so what does he know? Besides, you're a healthier addiction than gambling anyway. You keep me in check."

She just raised an eyebrow at him in question, knowing he wasn't finished.

"The casino _never_ sent me packing like this."

God help him, she went in an instant from teasing along with him to pursing her lips and nodding her head as she seriously contemplated that thought. "Actually, I _am_ an excellent influence on your health in many ways."

His head was spinning as he tried to keep up, but in that wonderful 'what-the-hell-have-I-gotten-myself-into-now' kind of way. No way was he leaving 'til he heard the end of _this_ one.

"Oh?"

She was just getting warmed up. "Yes, of course," she told him seriously, elaborating in response to his disbelieving look. "For example, I've been attempting to teach you the benefits of organic cooking. And on the topic of unhealthy addictions, I still intend to convince you that you should give up red meat entirely." Her eyes lit up as a colloquialism occurred to her, her lips turning up in a self-satisfied smile. "I can help you give up your addiction to unhealthy foods, cold hen."

His lips twitched despite his effort not to laugh. " _Turkey._ It's cold turkey, Bones. And not a chance in hell."

Her narrow-eyed, suspiciously pouty look disappeared pretty quickly when he gave up on his ridiculous thought of not touching her again before he left, and moved back in to claim one more not-so-quick goodnight kiss.

"I'm pretty happy with _all_ my addictions. If I don't go now, I won't," he whispered against her lips, reclaiming them before she could protest. "Tomorrow night, Temperance," he promised when he came up for air, satisfied that she'd forgotten all about turning him into some kind of vegetarian health nut. "And then every night forever."

And then he turned and walked away before he could find out if he really could've won the bet of getting her to invite him in - because if he had, at that point he knew he wouldn't have been leaving. Truth told, the idea didn't bother him so much. But he'd made it this far - he was finishing this the right way.

… ooo … ooo …

Friday morning seemed to start off all right. In fact, it seemed to start off better than any Friday morning in recent memory.

Of course, if anyone had told him 5 years earlier that being awakened by his doorbell a full hour and a half before his alarm going off would _ever_ constitute the best kind of Friday morning in his opinion, he'd have told them they were crazy. But that was before he had undertaken the unarguably trying task of loving Temperance Brennan, and had learned that having her reach out to him in _any_ way was the best thing in the world.

And as if finding her on his doorstep wasn't good enough, it was even better when she had a huge smile on her face and two cups of coffee in her hand. The smile instantly reassured his brief moment of panic that something was wrong, but he almost ended up wearing the coffee when he opened the door wearing just the boxers he'd hastily thrown on, grinned out a sleepy, surprised "Hey!" at her, and groggily reached out to pull her in, making her stumble in the process.

"Booth - coffee!" she called out, but his more sane reflexes kicked in and he managed to avoid disaster by steadying both her and the cardboard tray - which he quickly took off her hands and set down so he could put his arms to better use by wrapping them around her and kissing her good morning, no questions asked.

"Not that I'm complaining," he finally asked when he'd done a thorough job of making sure she knew _exactly_ how welcome she was at his door anytime, "But why are you here? I didn't expect to see you until tonight."

Her eyes darted away from his toward his chest, where her hands rested. "I needed coffee."

His eyebrow almost hit the ceiling as he leaned his head to chase her gaze. "Just coffee?"

The wry smile she gave him as she ran her hands up his bare chest and around his neck made his heart skip a beat, and her answer was worth anything and everything he'd been through for her or would ever go through for her. "Apparently, it would seem that I also suffer from...an unhealthy addiction."

Such admissions from her were so rare that it actually took a half-second for it to register, and another two before he convinced himself she actually meant him and not the coffee. And then nothing could have yanked the grin from his face - not even the fact that there was _no way in hell_ he could dare risk kissing her right then. Because if she suddenly decided she wanted to push up the timetable by a few hours, at that point he'd have willingly let her, right there in his damn doorway if that's where she wanted it. In fact, the idea was seeming more attractive by the second - which definitely meant it was time to go get dressed.

He carefully extricated himself from her grasp, kissing her gently on the forehead as he did so. "You came to the right place. Give me ten minutes to shower...I'll make you breakfast." _A really, really cold shower. Hopefully the last one for a while,_ he added to himself as he escaped to his bedroom before she could tip the delicate balance of his self-restraint.

He had no idea it was one of the last things that would go right for a few hours...

… ooo … ooo …

He was back in just nine minutes, showered and at least mostly dressed in a dress shirt and pants. His untied tie was draped around his neck, his white shirt untucked and the top buttons undone. His sleeves he rolled up as he searched his cabinets for everything he'd need.

"What do you say, Bones? A world-famous Booth omelette?"

"World-famous?" she asked disbelievingly.

He just winked at her, still rummaging through his kitchen. "Mm-hm."

She didn't comment again, just leaning against the counter and watching in comfortable silence until he started to crack the eggs.

"You can use the egg substitute for mine. There's some in your refrigerator."

He froze, an eyebrow nearly launching through the roof as he stared uncomprehendingly at her, brandishing an eggshell.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"I put it there last night while you were cooking dinner," she informed him innocently - a little _too_ innocently.

He'd somehow managed to miss _that_ occurrence _._ And he definitely didn't remember her walking in with a box. What the hell had she done - smuggled it in? He couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped, despite his look of mock seriousness. No, that was _exactly_ what she'd done.

The domesticity of the entire situation had a smile pulling at the corner of his lips even as he dropped the eggshells without taking his eyes off of her, and slowly started around the counter toward her. He'd needed a good excuse to get his arms around her again anyway, and this was good as any.

He looked at her like she'd lost her mind - which he was pretty certain she must have. "No way, Bones. Uh-uh. Hand it over. I'm good with the forty-dollar tomatoes and even the fake burgers and the meatless spaghetti. But fake eggs in my fridge is where I draw the line. We've been through this. Eggs don't come in a _box."_

She backed away calmly...in the direction of the refrigerator, a devious look on her face. "Organically grown tomatoes do _not_ cost forty dollars apiece, and the health benefits far outweigh any actual offset in price. And if I'm not mistaken, eggs _do_ come in boxes. I watched you take _those_ eggs out of a box," she informed him, gesturing toward his abandoned mixing bowl.

He was just a few steps away at this point and she was practically backed up against the fridge; so in a response that had become fairly automatic, he stopped in his tracks, all the while wiping his hands on a dishtowel and flinging it to the side. He narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at her. _"Carton._ Car. Ton. There's a difference."

She shook her head, looking skyward as her lips drew down at the corners, while she evaluated his argument - which she clearly found lacking. "None that I'm aware of."

He watched in amusement as she turned in a lightning fast movement, opened the fridge and retrieved her prize - all the way from the back of the fridge, just like he'd figured. She'd definitely done this as a covert operation. She held it behind her back and began edging along the opposite counter, making her way toward his mixing bowl.

"Don't even think about it, Bones," he mock growled, finding it difficult to keep the smirk off his face - especially when he could clearly see the delighted, happy, playful way her eyes were lit up. But there was also a hint of challenge there, and his competitive side rose to meet hers. This wasn't their first food debate, and he didn't intend to lose this battle quite so quickly or easily. "I'm bigger than you."

"But I'm faster than you."

Now that she had some wiggle room, he started advancing on her again, no longer bothering to hide the grin on his face. "Last warning, Temperance...hand it over."

"Gladly."

Spinning around with her back to him, she made her move toward the bowl. But he'd seen it coming a mile away, and he had his arms locked around her waist from behind before she made it a full step, pulling her back against him as he tried to get his hands on the box that he actually had no problem with letting her keep anywhere she damn well wanted just so long as she let _him_ be there too, with her.

Her laughter mingled with his as they struggled over the box, and it spurred him on. He _was_ stronger, but she was a good match for him, putting up a pretty respectable resistance - at least until he managed to get his hands wrapped around her wrists and pull her hard back against him, which he only accomplished so easily because at some point the box had opened and she was a little too focused on not spilling it all over his floor. "Give it up, Bones!" he laughed, his mouth right beside her ear.

And everything was fine, for the agonizingly brief moment it took until the flashback hit her.

Neither of them noticed the contents hitting the ground and splashing everywhere, as the carton of egg substitute slipped from her fingers. What Booth did notice was the way Brennan's entire body stiffened in his arms. Too late, he realized his mistake. It wasn't even close to the first time he'd wrapped his arms around her from behind since they'd returned from Albania; but this was sure as hell the first time he'd also been restraining her in exactly the same position as when he'd first grabbed her in that godforsaken hellhole of a room, either. Grabbing her wrists like that, his voice in her ear, hauling her backward… probably no single one of the above would have fazed her, but the one-two-three combo had been too much.

He let her go so fast that he ended up having to reach out and grab her again - to keep her from falling because he'd released her so abruptly that she stumbled forward and almost hit the floor.

As soon as she was steady, he pulled his hands away. It'd only been a few days since something like this had happened, but they'd been happy, long, blissful days; just long enough that he'd almost forgotten how badly this scared him - and how it hurt like being stabbed in the heart with a red hot poker.

"I'm sorry," he told her gently. "Temperance, I'm sorry." He'd also forgotten just exactly how much he hated not knowing what the hell to do. His hands hovered uselessly out in front of him, extended toward her but not daring to move.

"It's okay." She'd ended up with her back turned to him, her fingers gripping the counter so tightly that her knuckles had turned white as she fought for control. Her voice was strained, shaky, and he could tell her teeth were clenched…and that her predominant emotion was frustration with _herself_. "It's not your fault."

"It is."

One hand released the counter, her palm slamming back down on it _hard._ It almost made him jump. "It's _not,_ " she hissed. It was the first time she'd sounded even remotely angry, and it stopped his self-recriminations in their tracks. She whirled on him, her eyes an angry, electric blue. "Booth, if you say a word about canceling our date tonight, I'm going to shoot you."

His eyes widened. Of all days for this to happen...

But there was a desperation in her eyes that was almost as frightening to him as her flashback - a desperation that he understood. She was just as tired of this ruling her as he was tired of walking on...well...eggshells around her. But how could he just ignore what just happened? Taking a deep breath, he gave the only answer he could at that point.

"I won't. If you're sure that's what you want, then I won't."

"It is."

He nodded, knowing better than to argue when she was so upset. In fact, he suddenly realized that the best thing he could do was swallow his hesitation and make the first move.

"Come here, Bones."

He held out his arms to her in invitation, just like when he used to offer her guy hugs. She only hesitated a half-second before walking the few steps forward right into his arms, and he knew that that particular hesitation had more to do with trying to be too strong than it did with any residual fear reaction. He felt a surge of relief that he'd figured out the right thing to do - and that it no longer seemed that keeping his distance was that 'right thing' anymore. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise."

She nodded into his shoulder. "I know. I'm fine."

"I know." He sighed into her hair. "We knew it'd still take some time. There's nothing wrong with you, Bones."

"You didn't do anything wrong either," she reiterated.

This time it was he who hesitated. "I know."

… ooo … ooo …

It'd taken everything he had in him 30 minutes after that to let her walk out of his apartment and drive to work - and the uneasy feeling hadn't left him since. She'd seemed relaxed enough as they put together a quick breakfast and ate it, but he couldn't entirely bury his worries, either. Maybe she just had a bad case of nerves about their coming night together. That'd be understandable - he kind of had one too, one that had next to nothing to do with what'd happened between them overseas. Or maybe their plans were just a really bad idea after all.

So when he finally couldn't take it anymore and left his office for the Jeffersonian to offer to buy her lunch, it was still almost laughably early for 'lunch.' But he needed to put eyes on her and make sure she was okay - something he couldn't do by phone or e-mail.

Little did he know that he was walking into a mine field.

… ooo … ooo …

His knuckles rapped gently against her door.

"Bones?"

She looked up at him and smiled - freely, easily. And he felt the fist of fear around his heart unclench. "Booth!"

"Hey, I just..." He slammed on the verbal brakes before that train could roll any farther down the track, his internal ' _danger_ ' alarm going off. She was fine. No sense in telling her that he was checking up on her or just wanted to see that she was okay. "Wanna get some lunch?"

Her brow furrowed. "At 10 o'clock?"

At first, he was thankful for the interruption that saved him from having to answer that question - but only for about 3 seconds.

"It's a good thing you're both here. I'm going to need you both in Court 10 minutes ago, cheries."

"Caroline!" He sounded a little _too_ brightly happy to see the prickly prosecutor as she swept in to save him from that question, dropping her briefcase on Brennan's desk. Caroline looked at him suspiciously.

"Little early for lunch, isn't it?" She waved him off before he could answer. "Don't answer that. It's just a good thing I know where to find you when you go all M.I.A. and stop answering your phone. Unless you want that murdering backstabber that killed Bernadetti to walk, you've both got to come with me right now. His ambulance-chasing lawyer's done bribed a judge or some damn thing to get him an evidentiary hearing. Little weasel's trying to get my entire case thrown out, and I need the two of _you_ to defend your findings. Get your reports together and let's go."

Panic didn't so much hit Booth in a blinding flash. It was more of a slow creep as he realized the full implications.

The Bernadetti case. Their first case - and her _only_ case - since Albania. The one he'd all but robbed, stolen and cheated to get assigned to him so he could work with her again, back when she wouldn't even look at him.

And then her flawed, messy report that could have set a killer free.

Cam's forgery of a corrected version.

And, of course, his deception in keeping it from her - the one secret still remaining between them. And it wasn't exactly a small one.

Cam flew around the corner into the office at almost that exact moment. "Booth! I need to talk to..." She cut off abruptly, eyes growing wide, her own sudden smile just as overly bright as Booth's had been a moment before. "Oh...Caroline. You're already here. Listen, could I...borrow Booth for a second?"

Caroline made an annoyed sound. "Cherie, after my hearing you can take him out for dinner and drinks for all I care. But right now I need him in that Courtroom."

And then Brennan sucked every bit of air out of the room with her following innocent statement as she turned to her computer:

"Just let me print an original of my report."

… ooo … ooo …

Booth surged forward like a hot fire poker had just been pressed against his back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and half-leading, half-dragging Brennan around her desk.

"You know, Bones, Caroline said she needed us in Court right now. I'm sure she's got a copy you can use...right, Caroline?" _Right_ , he thought. He didn't sound guilty and half-panicked at all. Nope, not him...

She pulled against him, much like she always did when he was trying to herd her somewhere. "You know how I feel about using a copy in Court, Booth. It'll just take a minute."

Cam was trying to catch his eye, but he didn't have time for it. He knew exactly what she wanted to tell him - or at least he thought he did. He was much more focused on staring helplessly at the train wreck that was about to happen right in front of him.

And then Cam's voice rang out. "Dr. Brennan's right. She's much more comfortable testifying with an original in hand. It'll be fine - it'll only take a minute."

Brennan escaped out from under Booth's arm and returned to her computer, while Booth turned to Cam with a look of horrified disbelief on his face. Was it even possible that she sounded so calm? Had she actually _forgotten_ what they'd done to protect Brennan from realizing just how very affected mentally she had been by her ordeal in Albania?

The sound of the printer drew his eyes back toward his no doubt soon-to-be-ex girlfriend. It was a miracle he could even hear it over the pounding of his heart.

That problem resolved itself quickly enough - his heart just quit beating altogether as he watched her scan over the pages. But to his utter shock, she just gave an approving nod and tucked them into her folder as she rose from her chair to return to his side.

Suddenly, the problem he'd _thought_ he had was paling in comparison to the new/old one that seemed to have just dropped right back into his lap.

A completely terrified concern washed over him. He'd thought she was okay now. He'd thought everything was right with her again. But it couldn't be - not if she didn't find all the flaws in her original report approximately 2 milliseconds after putting eyes to paper.

His mind swam with the implications. How could he have missed that she was still so damaged? What the hell had he been about to do later that night, with her still in that condition? Terror turned to guilt, and guilt turned to determination as she proceeded to try to sail past him out the door.

He reached out and caught her by the arm a little more roughly than he'd actually intended, bringing her to an abrupt stop so close to him that he could feel her body heat. His expression was noticeably grim as she finally really looked at him for the first time since Caroline had arrived on the scene. She blinked startled blue eyes at him. "What are you doing, Booth? We're due in Court."

His voice was low, determined. "Bones, wait...I need to tell you something."

Caroline seemed ready to blow a gasket. "No, what you _need_ to do is come help me convince a federal judge that a lying scumbag murderer needs to spend the next 80 years in a federal penitentiary, cher. And you need to do it 10 minutes ago."

Booth's tone invited no argument, even putting a stop to the normally unflappable Caroline Julian and her grumblings. "The hell with the hearing. This can't wait."

At that exact moment he was ready to spill his guts in front of Caroline, Cam, and anybody else who wanted to listen. Hell, even if Cullen, the entire squint squad, the goddamn judge, and a camera crew from 60 Minutes came walking through the door, it wasn't going to stop him. It just didn't matter. What happened to him for his actions didn't matter. _Nothing_ mattered at that point but one thing: his entire focus had just come down to the fact that Brennan was still in trouble, and that he intended to get her some help regardless of whether she ever forgave him for lying to her and - probably even worse in her eyes - violating procedure in the process.

But at that moment, the utterly forgotten Cam appeared out of nowhere, inserting herself between them and forcing Booth to look at her. "Yes. It _can_ wait. Trust me, Booth."

If it'd been anybody else in the world at that moment getting in his way, he'd have most likely physically removed them in a none-too-gentle fashion. But it wasn't anybody else. It was one of his oldest friends in the world, someone who'd pulled him out of just as many scrapes as he had for her, someone whose opinion he respected - the one person, in fact, who knew exactly what was going on. And he recognized the serious look on her face as one he'd better pay attention to. It was just enough to make him hesitate - a brief hesitation, but just enough to give Cam the opening she needed.

"Dr. Brennan, accompany Ms. Julian to the hearing. Booth will be there by the time you need him, Caroline. You have my word."

Caroline's wary eyes tracked back and forth from Brennan, to Cam, to Booth, and back. Begrudgingly and with a touch of sarcasm, she accepted Cam's terms, a knowing look coming over her face. "Well as long as _somebody's_ coming, I don't have time to argue. And _you_." She pinned Cam with a harsh look. "Whatever is going on here, I have a feeling I do _not_ want to know about it."

"I want to know," piped up a very intrigued voice. Every eye turned to a very confused Brennan, who'd been watching the entire scene much like she was watching a tennis match. But Caroline's eyes were back on Booth in a split second, even as she directed her words at her star forensic witness.

"Something tells me you don't, cherie. Now let's go make sure a murderer stays where he belongs." With that, she ushered Brennan out of the room, keeping up a brisk pace despite the fact that the forensic anthropologist continued to look back over her shoulder as she was rushed off by the determined federal prosecutor.

Booth stared after the two of them, jaw muscle working furiously as his heart sank more with every step that took her away from him. His silent reverie was broken by a harsh, angry whisper before the sound of his partner's footsteps had even faded away.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Seeley?"

It wasn't what he'd been expecting Cam to say. His eyes snapped to his friend, who suddenly became a convenient target for his troubled tension. "What the hell am _I_ doing, Camille?" he managed to spit out, voice filled with misplaced venom. "What the hell are _you_ doing?"

Cam's eyes widened. "Trying to stop you from making a huge mistake. You can't tell her - not now. And especially not _today._ "

"Doesn't look like I have much choice now, does it?" he shot back.

She didn't back down even a step. "Exactly what does that mean?"

Booth's eyes flashed dangerously. "' _It'll be fine, Booth. Dr. Brennan needs her original...it'll just take a minute."'_

Cam had the audacity to crack a half smile at Booth's sarcastic repeating of her words. "It _is_ fine." At Booth's incredulous look, she held up a hand to stop the angry tirade she saw coming a mile away. "It's what I was coming to tell you when I heard that Caroline was on her way over. I corrected Dr. Brennan's report on her computer at the same time that I made the original correction. The version she has in her hand - the one she just printed off and signed - _is_ the corrected version. Everything's fine. I just wanted to stop you before you could...do what you were about to do."

Booth exhaled like he'd been socked in the gut, residual disbelief still marring his handsome features. He looked frozen in place. "You were able to do that? She told you her password?"

Cam grinned broadly, jerking a thumb toward her own chest. "Boss. Remember?"

But the smile on her face turned to concern when Booth suddenly stumbled blindly backwards the few steps to Brennan's couch, sinking down on it and dropping his face into his hands with his elbows resting on his knees, adrenaline still coursing through him.

Cam was at his side in a half second, sinking down right beside him with a worried hand on his shoulder. "Booth? It's okay...she's not on her way to Court with a flawed report. The case is fine. Everything's fine."

Booth barely even registered Cam's words - there was only one thing he cared about, and it sure as hell wasn't the case. His voice was a little shaky as he replied.

"So she's all right? She's okay?"

The question caught Cam off guard. "What?"

"She's okay." It was a statement this time, not really meant for Cam's benefit. Booth's broad shoulders rose and fell on another heavy deep breath. "I thought..."

But his old friend had already recovered and put two and two together. "No - she's fine, Seeley. There was nothing wrong with the report she printed off . She didn't miss anything this time. There was nothing to miss. I'm sorry. It didn't even occur to me that you'd think..."

Scrubbing his hands over his face before dropping them heavily onto his lap, Booth cut her off and sat up. "I need to get to Court."

She didn't let go of his arm. "You going to be okay?"

Booth forced a smile for her benefit. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks, Cam."

Cam's answering smile was reassuring as Booth rose to his feet and started for the door, but the knot that had been sitting in his stomach since that morning only grew - despite the fact that it looked like he'd gotten away with his protective deception once and for all.

But just before he took the final step out of the room, something else registered in his mind and Booth suddenly turned back around. "Whoa...Camille...when you said I couldn't tell her - what did you mean by ' _especially not today'?"_

Crisis over - at least in her view - Cam crossed her arms and shot him a knowing look, barely able to keep her grin at bay. "I'm pretty sure you know exactly what I mean."

And he certainly did, if the look of disbelieving embarrassment overtaking his face was any indication. "And you know about that...how?"

"Angela. How else?"

Booth's eyes closed. "She told Angela about tonight?"

While she'd been concerned about her friend's previous predicament, this one delighted Cam to no end. "Of course, and then Angela told everybody else. In fact, I refereed quite a lively debate this morning about what Dr. Brennan should wear under her dress tonight. And if she takes _my_ advice, you'll have two things to thank me for tomorrow, Seeley."

The only reply she heard before he beat a hasty retreat was the longsuffering groan of the man she'd do anything for, including bending the rules to the point of breaking.

… ooo … ooo …

The hearing itself went well - other than the fact that Booth was more miserable by the second. At any rate, Bernadetti's former business partner would be staying in jail a while longer, and none of the evidence had been thrown out. But that was the only bright point in Booth's rapidly worsening day.

Brennan was brilliant on the stand, showing no sign that anything had ever been wrong. But with every word she said, Booth's conscience only hit him harder.

And then Caroline chose the exact moment the hearing was over to inform them both that Nicholas Stallings, the man who'd approached Brennan in the nightclub and later filed false charges against her, had managed to post bail that morning. Brennan, of course, refused to discuss it with him or even acknowledge that there was any rational reason for that to bother her - despite the fact that Booth had seen every nuance of her reaction to Caroline's words, before she quickly got it under control and closed her features off in a carefully controlled mask.

He hadn't been ready to let her out of his sight - especially knowing about Stallings, no matter how unlikely it was that the man would dare approach her again - so he basically kidnapped her to the diner before personally returning her to work. Normally lunch with his partner was as good as it got, as far as Booth was concerned. But staring at her guileless blue eyes across the table, knowing that he was planning to sleep with her that night with the full knowledge that he had deceived her that morning and had been deceiving her for weeks, completely robbed him of any appetite.

She was two steps out of his vehicle in the Jeffersonian parking garage, heading for the entrance, when he caught up with her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into an embrace.

There was no one around, and he held her securely. He ignored the surprised sound she made and the questioning way she said his name, just enjoying the feel of her in his arms and the knowledge that she was safe. He could sense her confusion, even as her arms slowly came up to hold him in return. But he couldn't put off what he needed to say anymore, not even knowing that he'd gotten away with it and she'd never have to know. There was a lie between them; and since he found it completely unacceptable for _anything_ to stand between them, there was something he had to do.

"Bones," he finally began gently, wondering if she could feel his racing heartbeat as acutely as he could. "I need to tell you something, and I need to do it now."

He only held her tighter when she tried to pull back to look at him. Maybe it made him gutless, but he didn't want to look her in the eye when he told her he'd lied to her. He'd confessed more to her since her kidnapping than he'd have ever thought he could tell any woman...and still she was here with him. For all the time he'd spent telling her she needed to trust him, maybe it was time for him to just trust _her_ with the final secret, consequences be damned - because no way in hell was he going to be feeling like a liar or anything other than the happiest man in history when he entered her for the first time, if she could just forgive him this one more thing.

She persisted in her effort to free herself from his arms, so he reluctantly let go and allowed her to move far enough back to see his face. He was just going to have to suck it up and meet her eyes. The last thing he needed was to trigger a flashback at this point.

"You wanted to tell me something earlier as well, before the hearing," she remembered out loud. She had fully intended to ask him about that when the hearing ended - until Caroline Julian had swept the rug out from under her with the news about Stallings being released, something which she hadn't expected to bother her. But Stallings and Tolka were still just a bit jumbled in her brain, and so it had bothered her, just a little bit. But now, whatever Booth needed to tell her had her full attention again. "What is it?"

Booth reached down to get her hands, absently running his thumbs over the backs of them. He met her eyes, jaw clenched tightly, before he just came out with it.

"I lied to you about something."

He watched the reaction in those clear blue eyes, feeling it scald him. "You lied to me?" she repeated, with so much disbelief that it only made him feel even guiltier.

"About the real reason Cullen pulled your field privileges." He gripped her hands as tightly as he dared, holding on for dear life. "I was afraid to tell you at the time, Bones. You were already talking about quitting, and..." He trailed off, realizing his words made no sense to her - not yet, anyway.

"So what was the real reason?" she asked carefully, and the hurt in her eyes felt like a physical blow to him.

He swallowed hard, suddenly questioning whether his desire to clear his conscience was a selfish one that he should have stifled. If this destroyed her progress, he'd never forgive himself.

"Your original report in the Bernadetti case."

The hurt disappeared, in favor of confusion. "The Bernadetti case? That report is accurate, Booth. I reviewed it again this morning. I _testified_ from it."

Still gripping her hands, he winced at her words and pulled her a step closer. "I know. That's why I tried to stop you. The report you testified from _is_ accurate, Bones, but only because I had Cam fix it...without telling you."

Her eyes grew wide, disbelieving. "Booth..."

Booth's voice was low, urgent. He hadn't expected to have to _convince_ her that he'd done something wrong, and doing so was painful. "It has your _name_ on it. But it was Cam who corrected it and signed it for you...at my request. She amended the report on your computer, as well. That's why the one you printed this morning was correct."

She pulled her hands away and took a step back, and his heart almost stopped.

"Booth," she finally started, "That's not true. I testified this morning from a report of my own writing."

He almost panicked, before he remembered Cam assuring him that the report on her computer was the same as the one in the case file.

"No. Bones, Cam changed the one on your computer as well."

"Yes, I believe you. But I changed it again."

Booth's mind was reeling. "I don't understand."

"After my errors in the Egyptology report were brought to my attention, I reviewed every report I had written in my first days since returning from Albania. I fully reviewed each case file."

Still not following, Booth just nodded again. He remembered. He'd never forget her in her office frantically poring over everything she'd done in those first days back, desperately looking for more errors. At the time, it'd simultaneously broken his heart and frustrated him - because it'd kept her from agreeing to work his cases with him even from the lab, while she went through that painstaking process.

"The Bernadetti case was included in that review, Booth."

Finally he saw where she was going - and was amazed that it'd never occurred to him at the time. His mouth fell slightly open as she continued.

"I didn't realize at the time that I was amending what Cam had already amended. Her content and conclusions were accurate, but I found the written explanation of that information to be subpar. At the time I believed that I had simply done a poor job of writing it. I corrected and saved it in my computer, and forwarded amended versions through the proper channels to Caroline Julian and Deputy Director Cullen. Their official versions are the same as what I printed out this morning."

Booth couldn't help reaching up and grabbing her by the shoulders. His heart was slamming against his ribs so hard he wondered if she could see it. "So you didn't testify from a forged report."

"No."

"And you would've caught your own mistake in your review, even if Cam hadn't fixed it?"

She hesitated for only a split second. "I cannot say for certain, without knowing what errors existed. But I believe it to be extremely likely. I wrote the Bernadetti report my first day back. I feel confident in stating that, after some time had passed, I would have caught any glaring mistakes upon review."

Booth's euphoria was short lived. The biggest problem still existed.

"But I still lied to you," he pointed out, not letting her go.

"Yes. You did," she agreed with him.

"I'll take full responsibility, Bones. You had no knowledge of it until just now, so you can't be involved. You can report it, if you want. There should be no repercussions for you."

She opened her mouth to agree - and then he watched as she closed it, her brow furrowing.

"Bones?" he asked nervously, hoping there wasn't something he'd failed to consider, and especially not something that would jeopardize _her_ in any way. Just please...not that. He'd done it to protect her, would do it again, and didn't mind paying for that. But if he'd harmed her career or reputation, it'd all be for nothing.

"Reporting your actions would be the ethical thing for me to do," she stated, but didn't sound very convinced.

"You should _do_ what you think is right, and you don't have to feel guilty about it," he told her immediately, thinking he understood the problem. "I'm not asking you to break the rules to cover for me."

She continued like he hadn't spoken. "However, I am quite certain that information would fall into the seemingly broad category of issues about which Ms. Julian prefers to have no knowledge."

The wheels were turning in her head. He could all but see them spinning as she turned what he had done over and over in her brilliant mind, and he realized that she hadn't come to a conclusion on that yet herself. She didn't put any more distance between them, at least. Her eyes searched his with such gravity that he couldn't have looked away even if the parking deck around them caught fire.

"You were willing to lie, Booth." Her voice was filled with wonder, like she'd just uncovered some important truth. "You risked your job. The case."

"Yes." No hesitation. He'd killed for her in the past. Willingly taken a bullet. Would do it all again.

"Why?" A little breathless.

Finally, a question that he knew the absolute answer to. His hands came up to frame her face, cradling her head, thumbs caressing her cheeks. "Because I was trying to protect you. Because I love you. Because I need you. Because I couldn't let anything else happen to hurt you, Bones. Not when there was any way I could stop it, right or wrong."

Her fingers suddenly clutched his biceps. "I forgive you."

He felt like he was drowning in a sea of blue, but he'd gladly refuse a life preserver. "You don't have to say that for my benefit. I know what a high value you place on honesty."

She shook her head. "I know what a high value you place on protecting the people you love. I can't condone the way you chose to do it. But you _acted_ on your beliefs, Booth, without question, in a way I've never had the courage to do. And you've just done so again."

"By lying to you?" he asked incredulously.

"No," she told him, and he watched in fascination as a tear slipped down her cheek at the same moment that a small but dazzling smile broke out on her face, the contradictory actions mesmerizing him. "By telling me the truth. I don't agree with what you did. It _was_ unethical. But you said it yourself. You know what a high value I place on honesty. Yet you admitted this to me, even knowing that it was unlikely I would have ever found out otherwise at this point. Even knowing that I might be angry. You couldn't go through with tonight without being honest with me, even if telling me the truth put that in jeopardy."

"Bones." She had completely floored him.

"I'm not angry with you, Booth. Perhaps I should be. But I'm not."

Booth couldn't decide which amazed him more - that she had forgiven him, or that she was still talking like she intended their night to go according to the original plan. But judging by the way she was beginning to press more closely against him, the latter was about to take high precedence.

He opened his mouth, but whatever he had intended to say was silenced as the nearby entrance opened and they were no longer alone. She stepped away from him, putting an abrupt end to their conversation and their contact, and moved briskly toward the door.

… ooo … ooo …

He was still reeling as he walked back into the Jeffersonian with her to drop her off, despite her protests that it was unnecessary.

It made it that much more of a shock when he was met with stares accompanied by a frozen silence in the lab, so conspicuous that it immediately set him on edge. The fact that even Hodgins was looking at them like he was about to tell them he ran over their puppy didn't help matters, and neither did the matching sympathetic looks of dread on Angela's and Cam's faces.

Without even realizing he did it, Booth's hand at his partner's back slid around to her waist, getting a protective hold on her.

"What's going on?" he asked, and felt the weight of Brennan's questioning gaze hit him - she'd been oblivious to the tense atmosphere, of course.

Angela and Hodgins exchanged a glance. But it was Hodgins, surprisingly, who answered. "You guys haven't been listening to the radio?"

Brennan shifted at Booth's side, and he knew she'd started to pick up on the tension. It was so thick now that even she couldn't miss it. "Which station?"

Angela stepped forward. "Every station, sweetie. It's all over the news."

Booth's lips were a tight line, as the wild protectiveness that had overcome him so often since Albania surged through him. Every muscle in his body tensed as though he thought danger would come flying through the door at any moment directly toward Brennan, and he shifted still closer to her in response.

"Somebody tell me. _Now."_ he barked.

Angela ignored his bluster, stepping forward and reaching for Brennan's hand. "That senator's daughter? The one that's been missing? Have you heard about it?"

Brennan relaxed a little against Booth's side. "No. I haven't." With a slight frown, she studied Angela's expression. "Why are you all so upset? Do you know her?"

Booth, on the other hand, didn't relax. It felt like there was a rock in the pit of his stomach. He _had_ heard about it. The disappearance of a senator's daughter was a national story that had been gaining some attention for a few weeks, and his attention in particular. He'd had a suspicion about it since first hearing the story - one he hadn't really wanted to share with his partner.

"Yeah, I've heard about it," Booth took over, never taking his eyes off Brennan though his words were directed toward Angela and Hodgins. "College kid, studying for a semester in Paris. Disappeared right out of her apartment, along with her roommate."

Hodgins nodded. "Right. Well they found her this morning."

Brennan looked up at Booth for a moment, feeling the tension that practically vibrated through his frame but not yet understanding it.

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me and Booth."

Angela steadied her voice. "They found her in Albania, sweetie. Evidence of massive drug use...and sexual assault."

Booth's eyes were locked on his partner's face, and the way her face drained of color didn't fail to catch his attention. "Angela, that's enough."

Hodgins stepped closer, quick to come to the defense of the worried artist. "You can't even walk past a water cooler in this building or anywhere else without hearing all about it, Booth, not to mention that it's finally shined a light on underground sex trafficking in general now that it publicly happened to somebody 'important'. The whole country's talking about it. Dr. B's going to get hit with it one way or the other. Better it comes from us."

Brennan licked dry lips. "Sex trafficking." Her eyes closed for a moment, and Booth halfway considered just picking her up and taking her out of there right then. But the damage was already done. His hold on her tightened as her eyes reopened, watching her closely as she made a visible effort to keep control of the terrifyingly vivid memories.

"But you said she was found." The trembly quality to Brennan's voice hit Booth right in the gut. "She's been rescued. So that's good news. Right?" Recognition dawned in her features as she saw their reactions.

Angela's eyes flicked to Booth for just a moment, and she squeezed her friend's hand harder as she answered. "Found. Not rescued. She wasn't rescued, sweetie. It was too late."

Brennan's eyes slammed shut. By this time, all of them recognized the signs of her fighting off a flashback. It had been a while since any of them other than Booth had seen one...but it wasn't something any of them were likely to forget, either.

Booth moved directly in front of her, blocking anyone else from her view should her eyes open, and talked quietly to her until her eyes finally opened. That was the easy part - he no longer feared the flashbacks or doubted his ability to talk her through them. It was when she opened her eyes and finally focused on him that he didn't have the first damn clue what to do next - at least not this time.

But she decided that for him. Watery eyes lifted to his, locking there in a strangely calm fashion. "I'd like to leave now."

His head nodded his agreement for him, but Booth was watching her too intently to notice. But she seemed to want an answer, so he tried to give one. "Where are we going?"

To his utter relief, she never once questioned the 'we' in that statement. "Anywhere. Anywhere with no radios, televisions, or newspapers." The answer shot out too fast, and she amended it quickly after looking around and noticing that they still had an audience. She was still speaking in that strangely calm way. "I realize that my avoiding it serves no rational purpose. But I...don't want to hear any more of the details."

The idea of exactly where to take her hit Booth so fast that he didn't even have time to think it through and talk himself out of it. "I can do that." He took her hand in his. "Come on."

TO BE CONTINUED...

 **One more chapter...to be posted tomorrow. It's already written, just needs a quick re-read and edit. :)**


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

He'd be forever grateful to Angela - later - for following them to the parking garage and retrieving Brennan's already packed bag from her car and making sure it made its way into Booth's SUV right next to his own bag he'd already packed. But all he could think of at that moment was giving Brennan what she needed: getting her away from the story of a woman who hadn't made it out of the same ordeal alive...or even without having been subjected to something that had probably been worse than death. In truth, he needed the same thing himself. It wasn't like he hadn't fought off his own nightmares about her kidnapping coming to a similar conclusion. He needed her somewhere away from anything even remotely dangerous, just as badly as she needed to be away from any reminders.

He broke multiple traffic laws over the next hour and a half, growing more agitated and driving faster the more she stared out the window with that lost little girl look and didn't say anything. He held tightly to her hand, never letting go even long after his arm had gone to sleep.

By the time he left the beaten path for a bumpy trail through the woods toward the luxury cabin in the middle of nowhere - the one he'd rented out for their weekend, and for which he had already picked up the key from the D.C. rental office just the night before - he was glancing her way more and more frequently, questioning his sanity. Clear thought had returned, and he'd thought of a million reasons this was a bad idea.

Even Bones would have to realize this was the place he'd rented with the full intention of taking her there after their date that night and having sex - especially when she saw all the extras he'd requested be prepared before their arrival, like the champagne and the basket full of daffodils, and of course the petals that they were supposed to find all over nearly every flat surface. Would she think that was why he was still bringing her there now, after what she'd just learned? He could truthfully say the thought hadn't even crossed his mind when he'd made his split decision at the lab about where to take her to get her away from the news coverage and office gossip. He'd just wanted to do what she'd asked of him - take her to a place uninvaded by any outside news, preferably a neutral one one where he could also keep her close, without having her suddenly decide to order him out of her apartment in a fit of independence. He knew he'd go crazy if she was out of his sight any time soon.

So it was with a very worried mind and an almost painfully dry throat that he sat without moving or saying anything for a full minute after he shut down the engine outside the huge cabin that was even gorgeous from the outside. He stayed quiet for so long, in fact, that she eventually blinked and turned to look at him.

"Booth?"

"We're here," he answered quickly, before hesitating. "Is this place...okay?"

Her eyes scanned the elegant landscaping outside the building, and the friendly looking trails and wooded areas surrounding it, as she finally really noticed them for the first time. A stream bubbled along merrily beside the nearest path, at the head of which sat a golf cart with the rental company's name on it, available for their use should they decide to go exploring.

"It's beautiful here. This is perfect."

She reached for her door handle, but of its own volition Booth's hand shot across in front of her body and stopped her hand, leaving him leaning in close to her. "Bones, wait. I know that you - I mean we don't..." A frustrated sound left his lips, filled with irritation at his own babbling as he let her go and sat back up. "We can go somewhere else. We don't have to stay here now - not tonight."

As she was prone to do, she shifted track and left him racing to catch up. "Is there a TV here?"

He stared at her for just a second. "No."

"Then this is perfect."

"There's not one at your apartment either," he told her bluntly, not yet convinced that he wasn't making a mistake.

"Yes there is. You got me one, remember?"

And with that, she was out of the car on her way to the door. Seconds later, he was right on her heels. "I know why that girl's story bothers you, Bones. The same reason it bothers me. We don't even have to discuss _that_ if you don't want to, but please just _talk_ to me."

Judging by the way she turned and looked straight at him, clear eyed and without a hint of evasiveness, he really expected a more relevant answer than he got. "Do you have the key? Or do you plan to kick the door in?"

He couldn't decide whether to try to hug her, or strangle her. So gritting his teeth and doing neither, he pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door - fully determined that if she even _looked_ like she might have a flashback when she saw the cabin all decked out for the night of romance he'd originally anticipated, he was going to get her out of there no matter how much she protested.

... ooo … ooo …

For 10 of the most agonizing seconds of Booth's life after he opened the door and they stepped inside, he watched Brennan stand frozen in place, her keen eyes taking in every detail that he'd paid a premium to have prepared for them.

The elegantly appointed cabin, made up of one large room and a separate bathroom; the hot tub, surrounded with candles that only needed to be lit; the soft, cozy oversized couches; the huge fireplace filled with wood, also ready to be lit; the sensuously soft rug in front of that fireplace, with an ice bucket and bottle of champagne beside it, glasses at the ready; the basket of daffodils on the huge oak table; and last but not least the petals everywhere, including lining the floor and scattered across the huge, four poster canopy bed with the silk sheets.

She whirled back around to face him, eyes wide, so suddenly that it almost startled him. "All this is for me?" she asked him in a voice so uncertain that it nearly broke his heart.

He could only nod. The words he'd have liked to say to banish any lingering insecurities she might have about her own worthiness stuck in his throat. In fascination, he watched her eyes grow watery, wishing for the millionth time that he could track down every heartless bastard that ever convinced her she wasn't worth anything more than a meaningless casual fling.

"I had planned to take you to dinner first, of course," he managed thickly, realizing a little late that while she at least had her overnight bag, whatever she'd planned to actually wear on their date was most likely still back at her apartment.

Her eyes, a curious mixture of wonder and skepticism, searched his. Just as he'd watched her do more times than he could count, he watched the struggle between practicality and emotion battle itself out in her eyes. He hoped she'd do what he'd spent years teaching her it was not only acceptable but desirable to do, and launch herself into his embrace. She'd done it plenty of times before: at Angela and Hodgins' almost-wedding; when he helped her tearfully bury a dog she'd known for less than a week. But this time, when she inevitably did, it finally felt like he'd never have to let her go again.

"Thank you, Booth," she told him simply, her voice muffled against his neck as she hugged him around the waist.

"Bones...about tonight...about all this," he told her, tilting his head slightly against hers to indicate the cabin and everything in it. "None of that matters now. I can just take care of you tonight. I know today, hearing about the senator's daughter, was a shock."

"It wasn't a shock to you," she murmured against his neck, as she pushed closer and her head dropped to his shoulder.

Surprise rippled through him, temporarily shifting his mental track. He pulled her far enough back to see her. "How'd you know that?"

"I know what you look like when you're surprised, and you were not surprised about the manner in which the senator's daughter died. You already suspected what had happened to her, didn't you?"

Despite the situation, a ghost of a smile jerked one corner of his lips up for a split second as he caressed her cheek. "You amaze me, Bones. You know that?"

She rewarded him with a tiny smile briefly - and then figuratively knocked the breath out of him as her eyes grew serious.

"The things that happened to her...Booth, that was going to be me."

Nothing could have prepared him for that - not for the words she said, nor for the simple way she said it. He sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the cold terror hit him at the mere mention of what could've been. Just having it out there in spoken word struck him as so horribly wrong, like tempting fate.

"I know." He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to get control of himself. It didn't work. "I know...Jesus Christ, Bones." He had hold of her again so fast he didn't even know how it happened. One moment he was looking into watery blue eyes, and the next he was crushing her against him, his face buried in her hair and his arms holding her so tightly he was afraid he might break her. She only burrowed closer. "Dammit, baby...I know that."

"But it wasn't, Booth," she told him, pressing a kiss into his neck, feeling his arms grow impossibly tighter when he felt the tears that had escaped her lashes and were wetting his throat. "It wasn't me, because of _you."_

"Still way too damn close," a voice so raw that he barely even recognized it ripped out of his throat and was lost in her hair.

"I knew you'd find me. I knew it the whole time. I trust you."

And it was precisely that raw trust in him that overwhelmed him; Booth's eyes closed, remembering just what that trust had cost her in Albania - and also feeling the twinge of his conscience again about what he'd just confessed earlier that day.

"Maybe you shouldn't."

"Booth, look at me."

It should've been an easy request - but his arms weren't getting the message to let go. He settled for dropping his arms to her waist level, allowing her to lean back where he could see her without loosening his grip.

"I know what you're thinking," she informed him.

"Twice in one day?" he tried to quip, but it fell flat. He already knew she had seen straight through the fact that he wasn't entirely certain he should still go through with this, and she was prepared to argue it to the death.

He saw her next action coming a mile away. He would have stopped her, too, if not for the utterly calm, self-assured look in her eyes as she stretched up to bring her mouth to his. Instead, he couldn't resist drawing her closer as he kissed her back with just a hint of desperation, leaning forward to follow her when she pulled away all too soon to study his eyes seriously.

"I would like to know one thing," she told him softly, just a hint of vulnerability on her face. "What was her name?"

He nodded, knowing immediately who she was asking about. The only surprise was that it had taken her so long to ask. "Serena. Serena Johnson. She was just 20 years old."

"You know her roommate's name too. The other missing girl who doesn't have a senator for a father." It wasn't a question. She already knew he did. Not too many people cared about the other name, but of course Booth would.

His Adams apple bobbed, his eyes glued to his partner's blue ones as he still held her tightly against him. "Amanda Spencer. Nineteen, only child."

Brennan's eyes closed as she drew a deep breath, silently grieving for two girls who'd gone down the same path she had travelled, and not been as fortunate. Her gaze was steady if a bit watery when she reopened her eyes and locked them onto her partner's.

"They didn't get a second chance, Booth. But I did."

He could only nod once, before his forehead was drawn forward like a magnetic force until it rested against hers. "We both did," he amended.

A tear slipped down her cheek. "I'm alive, Booth. And we're here. Together. I don't want to waste another second of it. We already lost so much time. Please."

He didn't have to ask what she meant. He was right there with her on it. She wanted him. She _needed_ him in that moment, to make love to her and prove to both of them just how very alive they were. Almost as much as he needed the same thing. His heart pounded as his hands slowly ran up her back, trembling. He searched her eyes carefully.

"Right now? You're sure?"

"Yes."

He swallowed, hard.

"You'll stop me if…"

"Yes."

"Promise me, Bones."

"I promise."

… ooo … ooo …

Without another word, Booth took Brennan's face in his hands and softly brought his mouth to hers without hesitation. Slanting his lips over hers, he kissed her warmly and deeply, his tongue gently licking at her lower lip almost immediately, then quickly accepting the invitation she offered by way of parted lips. Though heated and deep, the kiss was nonetheless tender, as he slid his tongue against hers again and again while still gently holding her face in his hands. His thumb softly wiped the tear from her cheek, as he stroked her smooth skin.

She responded eagerly, her arms around his waist sliding up his back to hold him tightly; but she returned his kiss just as she received it without pushing for more, allowing him to take all the time he wanted as he deeply and thoroughly kissed her. Despite the tenderness, she could feel the difference in this kiss. Though all the raw power that just _radiated_ from the man who held her was still kept just as firmly in check as usual, for the first time the underlying passion in him was utterly unleashed. If she'd had any doubt that they were already mentally past the point of no return despite their fully clothed states, the way he was kissing her erased it. There was no doubting that he had surrendered. Her already increasing arousal skyrocketed.

Her fingers traveled up his back to his shoulders and around to grip the lapels of his suit coat, and he let go of her long enough to help as she almost immediately pushed it off his shoulders and down his arms to land unceremoniously on the floor, before she set to work on his tie.

A groan slipped from Booth's throat into her mouth at the feel of her fingers working to undo that knot at his throat - every time she had ever touched his damn tie, this was where his mind had gone. Except now it was really happening, and this time he had no plans whatsoever of stopping her. As soon as his coat had dropped from his wrists, one arm had slipped around her waist, fingers splayed across her back, gently but firmly pulling her as close as he could get her while still giving her access to keep undressing him. His other hand came up to palm the back of her head, fingers sliding through her hair and tilting her head to let his tongue get just that much deeper into the silky warmth of her mouth.

After next making short work of the buttons on Booth's shirt, Brennan untucked it from the waistband of his pants. As she did so, her fingers brushed against warm skin stretched tight across his abdominal muscles, which clenched at just that tiniest touch from her. His hands pressed her even closer against him in response as his kiss grew even more heated, and it was her turn to groan before she reluctantly pried her mouth away from Booth's to gasp for air. Her eyes opened and she looked up at his face, only to find his intense gaze fixed right back on her. If she hadn't already been slightly breathless, the unchecked desire in his almost completely black eyes would have stolen her breath away. His body stilled apart from his own rapid breathing, and he simply watched her closely, following her lead.

Locking eyes with him, Brennan could hear her own heartbeat as she reached back up to Booth's strong shoulders, and slowly pushed his shirt off of them and down his arms to leave him bare chested before her. Leaning forward, she planted one single kiss in the center of that bare chest, right over his heart.

 _"Bones."_

Despite all that tempting, sculpted muscle she had just bared, despite the way her hands immediately came up to rest on his chest, she just couldn't stop her gaze from being drawn away to his eyes as her name fell from his lips, his voice strained and just as breathless as she felt.

Heart pounding, she experienced a small sense of déjà vu as part of her dream came back to her…the unsure-how-to-proceed part. What she would have done at this point with any other lover would be to finish that undressing just as fast as possible and quickly push towards the finish line. But that urge conflicted greatly with her curiosity-to-the-point-of-entrancement about Booth's well-known desire to slowly make love to her, complete with physics lawbreaking. She was suddenly not so certain she wanted to be the one guiding this, no matter how things had happened in that dream he'd latched onto and clearly intended to use as a framework for giving her all the control their first time.

When his hand came up to her face, trembling slightly with barely restrained want, and he oh-so-softly pushed a strand of hair behind her ear as his eyes questioned her, she was sure of it. He was so attuned to her at the moment that he'd sensed her hesitation, of course. He was waiting for a sign from her, gauging her responses and following her lead in a way that made her eyes want to mist up again. But as certain as she felt that she wanted to give the reins back to him, she was just as sure that Booth wasn't going to accept them without being specifically asked. Licking suddenly dry lips, she tried to get that point across to him.

"Booth, could you…I want…" Her teeth worried her already kiss-swollen lip, something akin to frustration welling up as she tried to figure out exactly what she was asking him for.

Booth's hand had remained hovering at her jaw, cupping her cheek, and he answered before she could fully articulate. "Anything. Just tell me what you need, Bones."

But she couldn't. Instead she just moved a step closer until she was fully pressed against him, a tiny shiver racing through her as that step forward brought her into contact with the evidence of Booth's arousal between them, now firmly pushed against her.

He studied her eyes for another moment before it clicked into place that she was waiting for him to make the next move instead of the other way around. He nodded and took a step back, releasing her face and holding both his hands out with palms facing slightly upward, an invitation for her to place her hands in his - which she did immediately. He brought one to his lips and placed a kiss on it, before pulling her forward with a gentle tug.

Walking backward with her hands in his, he pulled her close after a few steps and softly kissed her again as he guided them both toward the couch. Releasing her hands when the backs of his legs bumped into the couch, he wrapped one arm around her waist and one around her shoulders, his fingers cupping the nape of her neck as he continued to kiss her, even more slowly than before.

She understood fully what he planned - he intended to give her the fantasy she'd dreamed about on that first night they'd spent together on her couch, just exactly the way she'd finally described it to him just a couple days back. The details she had given him raced through her mind…her removing her own clothes without his help, him passively waiting as she undressed him and then moved atop him, his soft 'I love you' before she lowered herself onto him. Complete control in her hands.

It was her own fantasy, after all. So she was a little surprised to find that acting it out was suddenly not what she wanted for their first time. Not at all.

So when Booth released her, and started to lower himself onto the couch in an invitation for her to straddle him and take charge, she stopped him before he could even sit down by reaching out and grabbing his shoulders.

"Wait. Not here."

He rose back to his full height, eyes searching hers, though their bodies were no longer touching in any way. "I thought this was what you wanted, Bones," he asked, his voice full of concern.

"It was. I thought it was. But…"

Booth's hands came up to rest at her waist, needing a connection with her as he tried to read her. "But what?" he asked her gently.

The right answer abruptly hit her, nearly taking her breath away. She knew exactly what she wanted.

"But how did _you_ imagine it, Booth?"

His breath caught sharply, the question enough to make his head spin. There was no one answer to that question. He'd pictured it every way there was, plus a few hundred more.

"Bones, I…it doesn't matter to me."

"The night you first told me about making love," she persisted. "Breaking the laws of physics. How did _you_ picture it, Booth?"

She had been inching ever closer to him throughout that statement, and by the time she finished she was so close up against him he could feel the heat radiating off of her. That night in the diner, so very long ago, shot back to the forefront of his memory like it was only moments ago. Yeah, he had definitely been picturing it that night. Could remember every detail, too. It struck him that he should probably be focused on the fact that she had apparently known that, and that he should be very interested in just exactly what point in time she'd figured out that he was talking about them that night. But he just couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. He blinked slowly, feeling her breath tickle his lips she was so close. His heart felt like it was about to explode in his chest.

"Are you asking me to tell you, Bones?" he checked, wanting to be so very careful. "Or show you?"

Her eyes grew darker so quickly he knew the answer before it started out of her lips.

"Show me, Booth. Make love to me. Your way."

His fingers automatically clutched tighter at her waist in reaction, pulling her a little closer to him. One single, adoring kiss was pressed into her forehead. The next thing she felt was the world tilting under her, as Booth stooped and his arm came behind her knees, his other arm going around her waist as he swept her up into his arms to carry her to the bedroom.

… ooo … ooo …

He placed her on her feet at the foot of the bed, his mouth finding hers again as he straightened. Her eager fingers immediately went to his belt buckle, despite her stated intention to do this however slowly Booth wanted, and she could feel his indulgent half-smile against her lips as she worked at it.

Truth be told, he had no intention of being the one to hit the brakes ever again, just so long as she was happy. He helpfully toed off his shoes as she worked. Having got the belt loose, Brennan unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, swallowing the hissing sound that came from him as she let her fingers brush the front of his boxers as she lowered his zipper. She deeply enjoyed the way that tolerant smile disappeared and his tongue swept into her mouth in reaction, regaining control of the kiss as his hands gripped her waist, keeping her close. Her own busy little hands were fully occupied with pushing his pants down over his hips.

All too soon he released her and stepped back enough to finish removing his own pants and socks, leaving him in nothing but his black silk boxer shorts he'd intentionally chosen that morning. The clear approval of his body that he saw in her eyes intensified the heat in his, as he decided it was far past time to equal their states of undress.

Brennan's breath caught when Booth's hands then came to the button at the top of her shirt, hovering there for a moment as he carefully met her eyes to be sure this was okay. He couldn't forget that in her dream, she'd been more comfortable removing her own clothes. But now she'd asked for _his_ way, and he'd been looking forward to this for a long time.

"Yes. Please," she answered his unspoken question as her eyes took one last long look at the impressively near-naked man in front of her, before she greedily grabbed his lips with her own in encouragement.

He made quick work of the buttons, but ended the kiss and took his time watching as he pushed her shirt back off of her shoulders, baring her black lace bra to him. Never having taken her time with anything other than the most essential mechanics of undressing with a sexual partner, it felt strangely erotic to Brennan to stand there so passively, watching Booth's face as his eyes drank her in. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he gazed hungrily at her, his hands coming to span and caress her waist for a moment before moving to the waistband of her pants.

"Bones?" Again, he questioned her, and could see the assent in her eyes. After first undoing the button and zipper, he gently guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. Kneeling before her, he removed both of her boots and socks, before helping her to lift up and slide her pants the rest of the way off, revealing the matching panties to her black lace bra.

His hands caught hers and pulled her back to his feet, his head dipping for one more deep kiss after his eyes swept up and down her.

Those same hands caught her attention when they landed at her waist, slowly sliding up her back to the clasp of her bra.

"I want to see you," he told her, his voice so deep with passion that a tiny shiver ran through her and temporarily halted his hands for the split second it took to realize that her shiver was fueled by anticipation rather than anything resembling a flashback. He felt the same anticipation. He'd touched her before, under his 'Booth' t-shirt, the night she'd given him that 'massage'; had even pushed up that little piece of lingerie she'd worn in his bed the night she came home early from Philadelphia and surprised him, exposing her breasts to him - but in the grips of his medicine-drenched fantasy that night he'd done a lot of touching and precious little looking. It had definitely occurred to him that this would be the first time he'd _really_ be seeing her, at least when he had every right to look and touch to his heart's content. Of course there'd been the sheer, nothing-to-the-imagination lingerie she'd been forced to wear for a considerable length of time in his presence in Albania, but he could honestly say that other than peripheral vision he'd never once intentionally sneaked so much as a peek, not even when he was changing her clothes. He wouldn't even have _wanted_ that memory. Loved, in fact, that the newness of seeing each other this way for the first time just made the night even more special.

Her breathing was fast and shallow, and her head tilted back with closed eyes for just a moment as Booth released the clasp and slid the straps down over her shoulders, just an instant before she heard the lacy material hit the ground with a tiny plop.

When she reopened her eyes, Booth's dark eyes seemed mesmerized by the sight before him - the woman he'd quietly loved long before he found the courage to tell her, standing in a secluded cabin bedroom with him, in nothing but black lace panties she'd worn to work that morning knowing he'd be undressing her that night.

"You're beautiful, Temperance."

It was far from the first time she'd been all but naked in front of a man, but none of them had ever looked at her quite like Booth was. It wasn't even the first time her naked body had been complimented…but she'd never believed anybody meant it quite like she believed Booth. Again, a touch of shy nervousness gripped her, as she dropped her eyes and a small smile appeared on her lips.

He sensed her shift in mood, and was quick to drive home his point. Again, his hands came up to frame her face, his gaze shifting to her eyes as he pulled her face up to bring her focus to him. "I mean it, Bones. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

His lips again came tenderly to hers, but this time the passion increased far more swiftly as he pulled her against him and his bare chest met hard, excited little nipples. Though still slow, the kiss threatened to fully explode as Booth brought an arm around her waist, tugging their lower bodies closer together and groaning into her mouth as she repeatedly pushed her softness against the rock hard erection that undressing her had caused.

His hands roamed all over her naked back, sliding down to cup her bottom and pull her tighter against him as his tongue continued to heatedly plunder her mouth, dragging groans from both of them. When she started to slide one foot up his calf, one of those hands on her ass quickly descended to grab her thigh, hitching her leg up around him to bring their lower bodies even more closely into alignment.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world when he began to pull her up, for her other leg to come up and wrap around his waist as he lifted her into his arms. Both her legs quickly wrapped around him. He turned immediately, placing his knee on the bed before leaning forward and gently lowering her into the middle of the petals scattering the bed's surface. He followed her down, so that she was fully beneath him. Her legs were still wrapped around him, and he quickly shifted weight to his elbows to keep it off of her.

They were both breathing hard as he broke the kiss, his hands finding their way to push her hair back off her forehead as he looked down at her.

"You asked me how I imagined it, Bones," he managed, having to stop to kiss those swollen lips one more time before he could go further, getting lost in her dark blue eyes that were heavy lidded with her desire for him.

"Yes," she whispered back, her gaze just as fully locked onto his. "I'm ready, Booth."

"I want to kiss every inch of you first," he told her, pushing up onto his hands as he hovered above her. Her legs unwrapped from his waist and fell to the bed, but he remained between them in the cradle of her thighs. "I'm going to take my time, Bones. We have all night."

That pulled a whimper from her as her head tilted back, her hips jumping to push up against him and bringing an answering push from him as he ground back into her. But the exposed column of her throat caught his attention, and that's where his lips landed first.

Not once did Albania cross either of their minds.

He gently kissed, sucked and nipped his way across either side of her throat, letting the hands she had reached up to wrap around his back be his guide as she alternately clutched and clawed at him, little vocal sounds enthusiastically urging him onward.

As exhilarating as it was to have his lips welcomed without hesitation onto her beautiful neck, there were points lower calling his name. Moving his lips back to the center of her throat from where they had quite happily been making her squirm at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, he started kissing his way down to her chest until his lips hovered just above one tightly peaked nipple.

Brennan nearly came undone watching him, as his tongue flicked out to lick his lips, so close she could feel the warm dampness of his breath blowing against her. One of her hands flew to the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair as her other hand gave up entirely, falling to the bed and grabbing a handful of silk sheets in her fist. She felt like she'd been waiting for months to have his mouth on her breast, and she simply couldn't wait anymore.

"Oh my God, Booth...please…"

He'd already decided he was done making her wait. Gently, but with absolutely zero hesitation, he let her have what they both wanted as his lips softly closed around one pointed nipple, applying the softest suction and then swirling his tongue again and again around the peak.

The uncontrolled way her hips slammed up against his in response had him fighting to keep things at the pace he'd set, but he couldn't resist kneeing her thighs just the tiniest fraction farther apart to gain more contact. He could smell her arousal, feel how wet she was through both her panties and his boxers, and that heady knowledge helped drive away any tiny lingering doubts he might have. He also felt her hand that had been clutching the sheets start sneaking between them, whether to touch herself or him he couldn't say. But he shifted almost immediately to gently pull her hand away and press it back into the mattress, before bringing his own hand in between their bodies to caress her through black lace.

"Let me, Bones."

It wasn't very long before that tiny scrap of lace was just in his way. Raising up onto his knees over her and shifting his legs so that he was straddling her, he reached for the waistband of her panties, blood pumping at the eager way she lifted to help him remove them. Backing up slightly, he pushed them the rest of the way off her.

He'd had every intention of resuming their positions and let his fingers touch her the way he wanted while his mouth continued to give her chest every bit of attention she'd been craving.

But Bones had other ideas, and by the way she pushed at his chest and tried to roll them over, he was fairly certain those ideas involved divesting him of his last piece of clothing as well. Allowing her to flip them over and straddle his legs with her on top, he was fairly certain of that suspicion when her hands eagerly reached out for his waistband. He was only all too willing to help. He just _thought_ he'd been almost painfully hard before she released his body from the silk prison of his boxers. But when he heard her sharp intake of breath as her eyes lit on him and turned even darker, any blood that hadn't already headed south made a swift detour. Her little pink tongue darting out to touch her lips, the almost certain intent he saw there as her hands traveled back up his legs from pushing his boxers all the way off, had him raising up and hauling her body back up his where he could capture her lips before she could do something ill-advised like put that wet little mouth anywhere that would have him going off like a shot. There'd be time for her to get her hands on him later...he fully intended this to be all about her this time. She landed fully stretched out on top of him, her legs falling open across his thighs and bringing his naked flesh into contact with a damp heat that had him seeing stars as he tried to remember _why_ he wasn't ready to let her finish him off yet.

He let the kiss continue for a few moments, hands sweeping into her hair and holding her at the perfect angle, until he couldn't handle feeling her wetness pressed right against the most ready part of him any longer without losing his mind.

Without hesitation, he rolled her back underneath him and braced himself with one hand, his mouth quickly traveling to find the nipple he'd not yet tasted, as his knees nudged her thighs gently apart and he finally got his free hand between them.

"Booth!" His name falling from her lips, as he softly caressed the outside of her sex, spurred him on as he easily parted her and slid one long finger inside.

"Jesus, Bones," he managed to pant in between the sucking licks he continued to lavish on her receptive little nipples, his eyes squeezing shut at the feel of her wet heat squeezing the digit in an embrace he knew would be even tighter on other parts of him. Her thighs fell apart even farther in invitation for more. The thought nearly had him coming undone. "You're perfect."

"More…Booth…" Her hands gripped his shoulders, everything forgotten but the long awaited pleasure he was bestowing on her.

He slid a second finger inside her easily, his thumb seeking out and softly making contact with the little bundle of nerves that made her hips buck up, pushing his hand even tighter against her. He began to circle it with soft little circles, his head now lifted to watch her face as her eyes closed and her head tilted back.

She was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, a pink flush starting at her chest and creeping up her neck to her face as he took his sweet time and pushed her higher and higher. Not once had he felt even the slightest moment of tension or fear from her, and that realization had him almost as giddy as the fact that Temperance Brennan was rapidly nearing the first of many, many orgasms he intended to be the cause of during the rest of what he fervently hoped would be a very, very long life.

Her hips had begun to undulate, keeping rhythm with him as he carefully thrust his fingers into her again and again, keeping up his thumb's attention to her clitoris with soft brushes and firm presses of varying intensity.

The groans and sounds she made grew closer together, he could feel her inner walls start to squeeze his fingers more tightly, and knew she was close. Leaning his face close to hers, he kissed her once for all he was worth and then whispered against her lips: "It's okay, Bones. I've got you."

He'd never, not for the rest of his life, forget the sight of her face as she flew apart under him at exactly that moment, hips riding his hand as he coaxed her through, her eyes flying wide open and locking on his face, her nails almost brutally digging into his back.

… ooo … ooo …

She was still coming down when she registered the fact that Booth's weight was no longer partially resting against her. She found him pretty rapidly, however, when she realized he was kneeling low between her wide open thighs, eyes fixed on her face. He hooked his hand behind her knee and carefully lifted one leg up as he turned his face to plant a kiss high along her inner thigh, causing a delightful little aftershock to run through her body.

She extended her arms toward him, her invitation for him to return to her arms perfectly clear despite the fact that speech seemed a little bit too challenging at that moment. But she dropped those arms pretty quickly to grab at the sheets again when he opened his lips against her thigh and swept his tongue a short distance higher and closer to where she'd imagined it a million times. She could literally _feel_ those lips against her skin turn up in a smile at her reaction. The tiny bit of 5 o'clock shadow starting to appear on his cheeks caused an indescribable sensation against her electrically charged skin as he gave a small chuckle. He looked altogether pleased with himself, which at any other time she might have seen as an absolute necessity to call him out on his cockiness.

But at the moment, it just made her want him inside her even more desperately.

"Boooooth…"

"Hold still, Bones," he murmured against her leg, making those directions impossible as his lips began to travel back down her thigh toward her knee.

"What are you doing?" she managed to ask. "Come here, Booth."

His tongue snaked out to swirl around the back of her knee, and she almost came off the bed. The little flash of mischief in his eyes, quick to return now that he'd already made her come once and nothing horrible had happened, let her know that just maybe she might be about to find out just exactly what she'd been putting Booth through during all those long nights she'd teased him to the brink in her attempts to get him….well, to get him precisely where he was kneeling at that exact moment, actually, which on second thought was definitely not a displeasing turn of events.

"You asked how I imagined this." His voice was rough, teasing. "I promised to kiss _every_ inch of you, Bones."

And that was all it took for fire to start slowly building low in her belly, one more time, at his delicious promise. Her hands gripped her fistfuls of sheet even tighter, tugging upward as her back arched when Booth leaned over her and his hair tickled the sensitive undersides of her breasts as he planted the softest kiss imaginable right over her belly button. Again, she could feel his smile at her reaction as he dipped his tongue in just a moment later.

She squirmed her way backward, trying to bring his mouth _down_ to where she wanted it most, but he just gripped her hips and held her in place as his lips and tongue skated down her belly, to her hip, and started down her thigh.

She squirmed, whimpered, bucked and maybe even pleaded as Booth kissed his way down her right hip, thigh, and all the way down the outside of her calf before he switched to the inside of her left one and started his way back up, all the while caressing every inch of her skin his hands could touch.

When he once again lifted first one leg, and then the other, draping them over his shoulders and holding them there as he leaned over her, she wasn't entirely certain, but she thought she screamed his name even before his mouth made contact and he planted a kiss right on the outside of her.

One hand flew to his head, clutching him to her as he reached down to gently part her and then his tongue was inside her. Tasting, exploring, licking her in one long sweep before plunging back inside.

If there was one lesson she'd already learned about being made love to by Booth, it was that he didn't get in a hurry, and wasn't deterred no matter how much she tried to hasten things along.

Clearly, he'd thought about this in every bit as much detail as she had. But her fantasies hadn't even come close.

His tongue swirled, his fingers tenderly joining in and pleasuring her as he once again felt her getting closer.

When he finally closed his lips gently around her clitoris and softly sucked, her whole body arched, her eyes slammed shut, and his name ripped from her throat as she came apart for the second time.

His lips disappeared as she came down, and she was vaguely aware of him repositioning himself. When she opened her eyes this time Booth was once again directly above her, his body cradled between her widespread thighs. Her arms automatically wound around him, lazily stroking his back. His face was utterly serious as he looked down at her and she realized that his rock hard erection was perfectly positioned just outside her entrance. He was braced on one elbow with his arm beneath her embracing her, his weight partially resting on her, his free hand brushing back her hair and cupping her cheek.

"Bones?" His eyes searched her, all earlier playfulness gone as he made absolutely certain she wanted this….that she had no doubts about him inside her.

"I love you, Booth."

It was the only thing she could think to say. It was him who figured out why: in her dream, it had been him to say it as she hovered atop him on her couch, only able to sink down onto him when he said it.

Now, the roles were utterly reversed. It was him on top of her, but only _her_ reassurance of love and desire that allowed him to cross the final threshold.

"I love you too, Bones," he whispered, and brought his lips to hers in the softest kiss she could imagine as he very gently, inch by inch, began to slide into her welcoming body, his arm beneath her clutching her to him. A small whimper escaped her lips as he filled her - it had been a long time, and he was extremely well endowed - and he pulled his lips away from hers to press a kiss into her forehead and whisper, "Hang onto me." His serious eyes were locked on her face as she clutched him tightly, watching intently for even the smallest sign that she wanted him to stop.

His forehead fell against hers when he had fully entered her and he was enveloped to the hilt by the tightest, wettest heat imaginable. Utterly still, he echoed her moan as her body adjusted to his size, stretching to accommodate him. Breathing heavily, he fought the urge to thrust.

"You okay?" he whispered into her shoulder as his head dropped there with the effort of keeping himself in check. "Bones, talk to me."

"Yes….God, Booth, _yes._ "

Her husky tone alone nearly sent him over the edge. Her legs coming up to silkily slide around his waist, her heels pressing against his ass, just about finished the job.

He took the hint and slowly withdrew most of the way, before gently pushing back into her.

And suddenly, it was just like he had imagined it that long ago night in the diner. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close. His lips found hers and he kissed her deeply as he slowly and gently began to thrust in and out of her.

Her entire body embraced him…his torso wrapped in her arms, his hips wrapped in her long legs, his cock sheathed in her welcoming body.

"Just like this, Bones," he rasped, slowly picking up the pace. "Just like this, forever."

She wasn't used to the slow pace, the tenderness, and it had her writhing beneath him wanting more. He calmed her with deep kisses and soft caresses, but she was so perfectly unrestrained and wanton beneath him that he knew he wasn't going to last too much longer.

He rolled them then, pulling her atop him, and nearly coming unglued at the sight of her breasts above him. She quickly took over, but to his surprise held to his slow pace as she rode him in slow motion. He thrust up beneath her gently, reaching out to grab her hands and lace their fingers, letting her brace herself against his palms to help support her.

It was the perfect angle for her as she pitched slightly forward when he tugged her down toward him by her hands, bringing his shaft into contact with her clit on each downstroke. All too soon her already sensitized body had her losing control of her timing and impaling herself on him at a rate that wasn't going to do great things for his control.

The visuals he'd been treated to in that position, combined with the way her walls were already starting to clench around him, had him quickly flipping her back underneath him.

"Love you, Bones….love you so damn much."

He called her name as he pushed once more deeply into her, feeling her orgasm hit its stride just as his hit, spilling him deep inside her.

… ooo … ooo …

He had all but collapsed on top of her, managing a small smile at the way she clung stubbornly to keep him atop her when he tried to roll to his back.

He indulged her for a few long moments, holding her close and kissing her forehead over and over as he caught his breath. But he couldn't stand the thought of crushing her for long, so he soon rolled them over and gathered her across his chest.

She rose up first on an elbow to look up his chest at him, and the sated smile and deeply satisfied, happy glow on her face was like the most soothing balm to his soul. The first nagging finger of self-doubt had already started to hit him about taking her to bed immediately following the events of the whole day.

"You were right, Booth."

He was still in his own dazed post coital glow, amplified about a million times over by the knowledge that this was _Bones_ he'd just made love to for the very first time, so he didn't immediately make the intuitive leap that would have told him what she meant. He just knew those weren't words he was used to hearing come out of her mouth, directed at him.

"I was?"

One side of her mouth quirked up in a cute little grin that robbed him of his ability to focus on anything other than wanting to kiss her again. "You don't agree? You seemed to be immensely satisfied as well."

Immensely satisfied? _As well?_ Suddenly he was listening. He'd _immensely satisfied_ Temperance Brennan, and he'd done it with sweet, slow lovemaking. There was something to be said for….

And then it clicked, and his face softened with something akin to adoration.

"Oh I definitely agree, Bones. I'd say we broke every physics law there is."

She stretched up to kiss him, long and slow, and he could definitely get used to the idea of having brought her around to his way of thinking. Taking his time with her in their bed for the rest of his life was a wholly intriguing thought.

"Two objects occupying the same space, two people becoming one," she agreed, her head lying back down on his chest right above his heartbeat as she yawned her last two words. "A miracle."

And when Booth awoke several hours later with her still wrapped snugly in his arms, warm and completely safe, with a blatantly content look on her face even in her sleep, he was even more inclined to agree.

Temperance Brennan, in love with Seeley Booth. That was definitely, to his way of thinking, a miracle.

THE END!

 **Author's note: I have (and have always had) an epilogue in mind for this. I definitely plan to get it posted hopefully within the next month. But as the primary story is now complete, I'm going to go ahead and mark this one as complete for now.**

 **I truly hope you've enjoyed reading. Please, please, please, hit that review button and let me know if you have.**


	45. EpilogueSequel Info

The promised Epilogue to this story has now become a sequel, posted separately under different title as it became a separate story all its own, picking up the thread 10 months after BAMN ended. Posting this info here for all those who had followed BAMN waiting for its epilogue.

The title of the sequel is "Whatever it Takes: A Sequel to By Any Means Necessary." You can find it through my profile, which I have also updated to show both of my pen names, Cheri Goodman and Heather Wyatt. Still me. :)


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